Classic Poem

I sat a little while beside
A greystoned rock—the rugged brow
Of our clear pool, where waters glide
By leaning tree and hanging bough—
In fall, when open air was cool,
And skimming swallows left the pool,
And glades in long-cast shadows lay
Below the yet clear day.

The leaves, that through the spring were gay,
Were now by hasty winds that shook
Them, wither'd, off their quiv'ring spray
All borne away along the brook,
Without a day of rest around
Their mother tree, on quiet ground;
But cast away, on blast and wave,
To lie in some chance grave.

When sickness smote poor Mary low,
And sent her off her life's old ground
To poor-house, day by day might show
Her bread, but not her friends around.
She never fell to lie at rest
At this old place she liked the best,
But went as leaves off-sent by waves
To lie in distant graves.