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Robert W Service - LeavesRobert W Service - Leaves
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The leaves are falling one and one,         Each like a life to me, As over-soonly in the sun         They spiral goldenly: So airily and warily         They falter free.         The leaves are falling two and two,         Beneath a baleful sky; So silently the sward they strew,         Reluctantly they die . . . Rich crimson leaves,—and no one grieves         There doom but I. The leaves are falling three and three         Beneath the mothlike moon; They flutter downward silverly         In muted rigadoon; And russet dry remote they lie         From feathered tune. The leaves are lying numberless,         Disconsolately dead; Where lucent was their sylvan dress         And lightsome was their tread, They rot below the bitter snow,         Uncomforted. A leaf`s a life, and one by one         They drift each darkling day; Rare friends who lusted in the sun         Are frailing fast away . . . How sadly soon will mourn the moon         My dark decay!
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