Harriet Monroe

From “Carolina Wood-cuts”

THE OLD oak lets fall its crimson leaves—

Tiny fuzzy leaves,

Drooping, shivering,

Tender as a babe new-born.

The hard old oak,

Brother of the wind,

Friend of storms,

Shakes out young leaves like a thin pale veil

Of rose and mauve,

That shades the sun for him,

And fluttering, flickering,

Softens the breeze.

Is it a new, new world,

That rosy baby leaves—

So tender!—

Should droop from the brown old oak?

A new, new world?