That leaf, the earliest of the year
To fall, hath dropped upon your hair,
I saw it wavering in the air,
Then drop as if directed where!
Vain fancies! it bodes nought to fear,
Even let it lie;—
Doubtless to you, to me, to all
From out eternity,
Hours all foredoomed are hastening near,
Although they are not to be seen
Against the sky,
Nor do we hear a doomster call!
Yet this first leaf to fall though green,
Upon your head, my daughter May,
Hath fallen to-day!