Treasure Island

Alice Nahon


Blarenlied


Wij, dorre en dode blaren,
Wij komen stil gevloôn
En vlechten door uw haren
Een goud- en bronzen kroon.

Daar, waar wij ritselend vielen,
En strooiden herfst-gewaad,
Daar sterft iets in uw zielen...
Gij, die er over gaat.

Wij leggen in uw ogen
Traan van weemoedigheid;
'De Zomer was een logen';
Zo zucht ge, wijl ge schreit.

Neen, stervling, in uw klagen
Treurt ge om ons dor geblaart;
Ge denkt aan zonnedagen,
Die gij vergeten waart.

Gij weent omdat wij zingen
Op droeve mijmertoon,
Van half-vergane dingen,
Te vroeg gestorven schoon.

Wij suizen 't in de hagen,
Wij fluistren 't vóór uw voet.
Wij komen ritselend klagen,
Dat àlles sterven moet.

Submitted: Thursday, August 09, 2012
Edited: Thursday, August 09, 2012

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