The leaflet

From shelt'ring bough by rough wind shaken,

Leaflet, say, where dost go, forsaken?

oh where? oh where? "I do not know

The stormblast has my good oak shatter'd,

By breath of chance toss'd to and fro,

I and my dear ones all are scatter'd;

I go whereever fate may will,

Whereever all things here are driven,

Where all the laurel crowns are riven,

And where the roseleaf lingers still."