June leaves and autumn

I

Lush summer lit the trees to green;

But in the ditch hard by

Lay dying boughs some hand unseen

Had lopped when first with festal mien

They matched their mates on high.

It seemed a melancholy fate

That leaves but brought to birth so late

Should rust there, red and numb,

In quickened fall, while all their race

Still joyed aloft in pride of place

With store of days to come.

II

At autumn-end I fared that way,

And traced those boughs fore-hewn

Whose leaves, awaiting their decay

In slowly browning shades, still lay

Where they had lain in June

And now, no less embrowned and curst

Than if they had fallen with the first,

Nor known a morning more,

Lay there alongside, dun and sere,

Those that at my last wandering here

Had length of days in store.