Late Leaves

Walter Savage Landor

The leaves are falling; so am I;
The few late flowers have moisture in the eye;
    So have I too.
Scarcely on any bough is heard
Joyous, or even unjoyous, bird
    The whole wood through.

Winter may come: he brings but nigher
His circle (yearly narrowing) to the fire
    Where old friends meet.
Let him; now heaven is overcast,
And spring and summer both are past,
    And all things sweet.

Next 10 Poems

• Walter Savage Landor : Lately Our Poets
• Walter Savage Landor : Mild Is The Parting Year
• Walter Savage Landor : Mother, I Cannot Mind My Wheel
• Walter Savage Landor : Of Clementina
• Walter Savage Landor : On An Eclipse Of The Moon
• Walter Savage Landor : On Catullus
• Walter Savage Landor : On His Eightieth Birthday
• Walter Savage Landor : On His Seventy-fifth Birthday
• Walter Savage Landor : One Lovely Name
• Walter Savage Landor : Proud Word You Never Spoke

Previous 10 Poems

• Walter Savage Landor : In Spring And Summer Winds May Blow
• Walter Savage Landor : Ianthe's Question
• Walter Savage Landor : Ianthe! You Are Call'd To Cross The Sea
• Walter Savage Landor : Ianthe
• Walter Savage Landor : I Strove With None
• Walter Savage Landor : I Entreat You, Alfred Tennyson
• Walter Savage Landor : God Scatters Beauty
• Walter Savage Landor : Fsulan Idyl
• Walter Savage Landor : Finis
• Walter Savage Landor : Dying Speech Of An Old Philosopher