The Master and the Leaves, par Thomas Hardy

Thomas Hardy

The Master and the Leaves

We are budding, master, budding,

We of your favourite tree;

March drought and April flooding

Arouse us merrily.

The stemlets brightly studding;

And yet you do not see.

We are fully woven for summer

In modes of limpest green,

The twitterer and the hummer

Here rest their rounds between,

While like a 'long-roll’ drummer

The night-hawk thrills the treen.

III

We are turning yellow, master,

And next we are turning red,

And faster then and faster

Shall seek our rooty bed—

All wasted in disaster

The magic show we spread!

'I mark your early going,

And that you’ll soon be clay,

I have seen your summer showing

As in my youthful day;

But why I seem unknowing

Is too deep down to say.'

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Thomas Hardy

The Master and the Leaves

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