Leaves

by


One by one, like leaves from a tree,
All my faiths have forsaken me;
But the stars above my head
Burn in white and delicate red,
And beneath my feet the earth
Brings the sturdy grass to birth.
I who was content to be
But a silken-singing tree,
But a rustle of delight
In the wistful heart of night
I have lost the leaves that knew
Touch of rain and weight of dew.
Blinded by a leafy crown
I looked neither up nor down
But the little leaves that die
Have left me room to see the sky;
Now for the first time I know
Stars above and earth below.

10

facebook share button twitter share button reddit share button share on pinterest pinterest


Add Leaves to your library.

Return to the Sara Teasdale library , or . . . Read the next poem; Lessons

© 2022 AmericanLiterature.com