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 forth¹

    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 glide²

    Into the grave.