Leaves poems from famous poets and best beautiful poems to feel good. Best leaves poems ever written. Read all poems about leaves.
Like a joy on the heart of a sorrow,
The sunset hangs on a cloud;
A golden storm of glittering sheaves,
Of fair and frail and fluttering leaves,
Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you.
But when the leaves hang trembling,
The wind is passing through.
A Whirl-Blast from behind the hill
Rushed o'er the wood with startling sound;
Then--all at once the air was still,
And showers of hailstones pattered round.
I remember you as you were in the last autumn.
You were the grey beret and the still heart.
In your eyes the flames of the twilight fought on.
And the leaves fell in the water of your soul.
Death leaves Us homesick, who behind,
Except that it is gone
Are ignorant of its Concern
As if it were not born.
Merry, merry sparrow!
Under leaves so green
A happy blossom
Sees you, swift as arrow,
Spades take up leaves
No better than spoons,
And bags full of leaves
Are light as balloons.
Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory;
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.
As cool as the pale wet leaves
She lay beside me in the dawn.
At night, by the fire,
The colors of the bushes
And of the fallen leaves,
Sing we for love and idleness,
Naught else is worth the having.
Though I have been in many a land,
Sherwood in the twilight, is Robin Hood awake?
Grey and ghostly shadows are gliding through the brake,
Shadows of the dappled deer, dreaming of the morn,
Dreaming of a shadowy man that winds a shadowy horn.
The wind, one brilliant day, called
to my soul with an odor of jasmine.
'In return for the odor of my jasmine,
I'm going out to clean the pasture spring;
I'll only stop to rake the leaves away
(And wait to watch the water clear, I may):
I shan't be gone long. -- You come too.
There is never a sight more beautiful
Or so amazing than that of a tree,
In summer with branches and leaves so full
With gently swaying boughs for all to see.
A tree's leaves may be ever so good,
So may its bar, so may its wood;
But unless you put the right thing to its root
It never will show much flower or fruit.
The skies they were ashen and sober;
The leaves they were crisped and sere-
The leaves they were withering and sere;
It was night in the lonesome October
If I could write words
Like leaves on an autumn forest floor,
What a bonfire my letters would make.
Here is a long and silent street.
I walk in blackness and I stumble and fall
and rise, and I walk blind, my feet
Welcome to the first Two yellow leaves that were intertwined
They couldn't coexist if they didn't have each other.
paints on leaves of wind
Story of Fallen Leaves
When the leaves fall silently,
With drenched winter's air.
Fallen leaves, fallen leaves,
No longer the leaves show their full summer green,
As this cool autumn day
Takes their own youth away
As it once did with me a long time ago...
At the point when the leaves tumble off the branches
The leaves evaporate and tumble off
In the wake of shading the products of the soil
Hungry leaves become yellow
Today as I walked under our oak trees a persistent morning breeze coaxed a myriad of leaves from their home amidst the trees.
(For those of you experiencing winter…who think a poem about fallen leaves is just wrong…Remember…I happen to live Florida…where the leaves fall all year long!)
Breeze had a brief dialogue with flowers and leaves
Leaves accused breeze of partiality
You did not touch leaves with same softness
with which you touch the flowers
Fallen yellow leaves on withered leaves
The winter compresses all oddly
Sunlight comes but with not summer heats
Fallen yellow leaves on withered leaves
All but a few dry
August trees in wigs
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