Translation From Millevoye Poem by Frances Anne Kemble
Translation From Millevoye
Rating: ★2.7
Fallen from thy parent bough,
Poor wither'd leaf, where goest thou?
From the mountain to the vale,
From the forest to the hill
I flutter, carried by the gale,
Hither, thither, at its will.
I go where each thing goes,
Without complaint or grief,
The leaf of the withered rose
And the faded laurel leaf.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Topic(s) of this poem: grief
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8/24/2026 6:26:34 AM # rel_20260813T193622Z_3aad590
