Poems (Ford)/Falling Leaves

For works with similar titles, see Falling Leaves.
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FALLING LEAVES.
They 're slowly drifting downward, With low and whispering sound,In hues of fleeting beauty Painting the russet ground.What sombre shadows Fancy Into our life-web weaves,As autumn winds are wailing Among the falling leaves.
Out in the sighing forest They rustle 'neath our tread,Like the half-smothered echoes Of voices from the dead;Or like some wandering spirit That, sad and restless, grievesO'er all its bright days wasted, Moan the sad autumn leaves.
Like them our lives are changing, Like them we too must fade,When pass our few brief seasons Of sunshine and of shade; ​And though perhaps our passing Some home or heart bereaves,We're soon no more remembered Than withered autumn leaves.
Oh, moaning leaves of autumn, As sad were earthly life,Was there no glorious future, Undimmed by grief and strife,Where heart-strings are unbroken, And no sad spirit grieves,—Where are no faded flowers Or withered autumn leaves.

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