Fair pledges of a fruitful tree,

   Why do ye fall so fast?

   Your date is not so past,

But you may stay yet here awhile

   To blush and gently smile,

      And go at last.

		

What, were ye born to be

   An hour or half's delight,

   And so to bid good-night?

'Twas pity Nature brought ye forth

   Merely to show your worth,

      And lose you quite.



But you are lovely leaves, where we

   May read how soon things have

   Their end, though ne'er so brave:

And after they have shown their pride

   Like you, awhile, they glide

      Into the grave.