leaves

There is continual spring, and harvest there Continual, both meeting at one time: For both the boughs do laughing blossoms bear, And with fresh colours deck the wanton prime, And eke attonce the heavy trees they climb, Which seem to labour under their fruits load: The whiles the joyous birds make their pastime Amongst the shady leaves, their sweet above, And their true loves without suspicion tell abroad.

—Spenser, Edmund

While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont, And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve! While Summer loves to sport Beneath thy lingering light; While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves, Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air, Affrights thy shrinking train, And rudely rends thy robes.

—Collins,William

You will be home before the leaves have fallen from the trees.

—Wilhelm II, Kaiser

At eve The moonbeam, sliding softly in between The sleeping leaves, is all the light they wish, Birds warbling all the music.

—Cowper,William

Now is the time for the burning of the leaves.

—Binyon, (Robert) Laurence

Fast fading violets covered up in leaves; And mid-May's eldest child, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.

—Keats,John

Pale, beyond porch and portal, Crowned with calm leaves, she stands Who gathers all things mortal With cold immortal hands.

—Swinburne, Algernon Charles

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, He rode between the barley-sheaves, The sun came dazzling through the leaves, And flamed upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir Lancelot. A red-cross knight forever kneeled To a lady in his shield, That sparkled on the yellow field, Beside remote Shalott.

—Tennyson

Os guerreiros de ca¤   na‹  o buscam mavo¤  rticas damas para o enlace epitala"  mico; mas antes as preferem do¤  ceis e facilmente troca¤ v eis por pequeninas e vola¤  teis folhas de papel a que o vulgo chamara¤   dinheiroöo 'curriculum vitae'da Civiliza c° a‹  o. The warriors here do not seek out mettlesome women for epithalamic conjunction, but prefer them docile and willing to exchange with ease their favours for those small and deliquescent leaves of paper which the masses call moneyöthe curriculum vitae of Civilization.

—Andrade, Ma¤ r io de

Often drunk, and seldom sober

—Fuller,Thomas

The brawling of a sparrow in the eaves, The brilliant moon and all the milky sky, And all that famous harmony of leaves, Has blotted out man's image and his cry.

—Yeats,W(illiam) B(utler)

There is anothercause which, if you indulge it, canmake yourhand sounsteady that it will waver more, and flutter far more, than leaves do in the wind, and this is indulging too much in the company of women.

—Cennini, Cennino

Madam, a circulating library in a town is as an evergreen tree of diabolical knowledge!† Depend upon it, Mrs Malaprop, that they who are so fond of handling the leaves, will long for the fruit at last.

—Sheridan, Richard Brinsley

Pergo Park knew me, and Clavering, and Havering- atte-Bower, Stanford Rivers lost me in osier-beds, Stapleford Abbots sent me safe home on the dark road after Simeon-quiet evensong, Wanstead drew me over and over into its basic poetry, in its serpentine lake I saw bass-viols among the golden dead leaves, through its trees the ghost of a great house.

—Levertov, Denise

Jolly June, arrayed All in green leaves, as he a Player were.

—Spenser, Edmund

And soft as lips that laugh and hide The laughing leaves of the tree divide, And screen from seeing and leave in sight The god pursuing, the maiden hid.

—Swinburne, Algernon Charles

Call for the robin-red-breast and the wren, Since o'er shady groves they hover, And with leaves and flowers do cover The friendless bodies of unburied men.

—Webster,John

Lytle hwile leof beoth grene thonne hie eft fealewiath, feallath on eorthan and forweorniath weorthiath to duste. For a little while the leaves are green. Then they turn yellow, fall to the ground, and perish, turning to dust.

—Anonymous

   The rose is red, the leaves are green, God save Elizabeth, our noble queen.

—Anonymous

O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being, Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing.

—Shelley, Percy Bysshe

Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet; She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white feet. She bid metake love easy, asthe leavesgrow on thetree; But I, being young and foolish, with her would not agree. In a field by the river my love and I did stand, And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand. She bid metake life easy, as thegrassgrows on the weirs; But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears.

—Yeats,W(illiam) B(utler)

Come live with me and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove That valleys, groves, hills, and fields, Woods, or steepy mountain yields. And we will sit upon the rocks, Seeing shepherds feed their flocks, By shallow rivers to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals. And I will make thee beds of roses And a thousand fragrant posies, A cap of flowers, and a kirtle Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle. See Raleigh 677:98.

—Marlowe, Christopher

If poetry comes not as naturally as leaves to a tree it had better not come at all.

—Keats,John

Like that of leaves is a generation of men.

—Homer   8c

When the hounds of spring are on winter's traces, The mother of months in meadow or plain Fills the shadows and windy places With lisp of leaves and ripple of rain; And the brown bright nightingale amorous Is half assured for Itylus, For theThracian ships and the foreign faces, The tongueless vigil and all the pain.

—Swinburne, Algernon Charles

Ah, yet would God this flesh of mine might be Where air might wash and long leaves cover me; Where tides of grass break into foam of flowers, Or where the wind's feet shine along the sea.

—Swinburne, Algernon Charles

Sweetly they slept On the blue fields of heaven, and then there crept A little noiseless noise among the leaves, Born of the very sign that silence heaves.

—Keats,John

Now, of my threescore years and ten, Twenty will not come again, And take from seventy springs a score, It only leaves me fifty more.

—Housman, A(lfred) E(dward)

On Wenlock Edge the wood's in trouble; His forest fleece the Wrekin heaves; The wind it plies the saplings double, And thick on Severn snow the leaves.

—Housman, A(lfred) E(dward)

Each had his past shut in him like the leaves of a book known to him by heart; and his friends could only read the title.

—Woolf, (Adeline) Virginia ne¤  e Stephen

And when the woman saw that the tree wasgood for food, and that it waspleasanttothe eyes,and atreetobe desired to make one wise she took of the fruit thereof, and did eat, and gave also to her husband with her; and he did eat. And the eyes of them bothwere opened, and they knew that they were naked; and they sewed fig leaves together, and made themselves aprons. And they heard the voice of the L God walking inthegarden in the cool of the day: and Adam and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the L God amongst the trees of the garden.

—Bible (Old Testament)

Yet once more,O ye laurels, and once more Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never-sere I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with forc'd fingers rude, Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear, Compels me to disturb your season due For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer.

—Milton,John

Is it not possible that the rage for confession, autobiography, especially for memories of earliest childhood, is explained by our persistent yet mysterious belief in a self which is continuous and permanent; which, untouched by all we acquire and all we shed, pushes a green spear through the dead leaves and throughthemould, thrusts a scaled bud through years of darkness until, one day, the light discovers it and shakes the flower free andöwe are aliveöwe are flowering for our moment upon the earth? This is the moment which after all, we live foröthe moment of direct feeling when we are most ourselves and least personal.

—Beauchamp

Tawny are the leaves turned but they still hold, And it is harvest; what shall this land produce? A meagre hill of kernels, a runnel of juice; Declension looks from our land, it is old. Therefore let us assemble, dry, gray, spare, And mild as yellow air.

—Ransom,John Crowe

Lo, thro' her works gay nature grieves How brief she is and frail, As ever o'er the falling leaves Autumnal winds prevail. Yet still the philosophic mind Consolatory food can find, And hope her anchorage maintain: We never are deserted quite; 'Tis by succession of delight That love supports his reign.

—Smart, Christopher

The riverbed, dried-up, half full of leaves. Us, listening to a river in the trees.

—Heaney, SeamusJustin

One impulse from a vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can. Sweet is the lore which Nature brings; Our meddling intellect Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things:ö We murder to dissect. Enough of science and of art; Close up those barren leaves; Come forth and bring with you a heart That watches and receives.

—Wordsworth,William

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last grey hairs, Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies; Where but to think is to be full of sorrow And leaden-eyed despairs.

—Keats,John

Nor turned I ween Adam from his fair spouse, nor Eve the rites Mysterious of connubial love refused: Whatever hypocrites austerely talk Of purity and place and innocence, Defaming as impure what God declares Pure, and commands to some, leaves free to all.

—Milton,John

Uneasily the leaves fall at this season, forgetting what to do or where to go; the red amnesiacs of autumn drifting thru the graveyard forest. What they have forgotten they have forgotten: what they meant to do instead of fall is not in earth or time recoverableö the fossils of intention, the shapes of rot.

—Purdy, Al

Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is: What if my leaves are falling like its own! The tumult of thy mighty harmonies Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone, Sweet though in sadness.

—Shelley, Percy Bysshe

Coldly, sadly descends The autumn evening. The field Strewn with its dank yellow drifts Of withered leaves, and the elms, Fade into dimness apace, Silent;öhardlya shout From a few boys late at their play!

—Arnold, Matthew