Jones Very (28 August 1813 – 8 May 1880 / Salem, Massachusetts)
Lines To A Withered Leaf Seen On A Poet's Table
Poet's hand has placed thee there,
Autumn's brown and withered scroll!
Though to outward eye not fair,
Thou hast beauty for the soul,
Though no human pen has traced
On that leaf its learned lore,
Love divine the page has graced,—
What can words discover more?
Not alone dim Autumn's blast
Echoes from yon tablet sear,—
Distant music of the Past
Steals upon the poet's ear.
Voices sweet of summer hours,
Spring's soft whispers murmur by;
Feathered songs from leafy bowers
Draw his listening soul on high.
Comments about this poem (Lines To A Withered Leaf Seen On A Poet's Table by Jones Very )
Top 500 Poems
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
William Ernest Henley
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings