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1762–1850

THE WITHERED LEAF.

William Lisle Bowles

Oh! mark the withered leaves that fall In silence to the ground; Upon the human heart they call, And preach without a sound.

They say, So passes man's brief year! To-day, his green leaves wave; To-morrow, changed by time, and sere, He drops into the grave.

Let Wisdom be our sole concern, Since life's green days are brief! And faith and heavenly hope shall learn A lesson from the LEAF.

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THE WITHERED LEAF. · William Lisle Bowles · Poetry Cove