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 ::::THE LEAVES HE first dead leaves of the year are down! Look, how pale they float, Under the bridge of the market-town By wharf and barge and boat! How cold the rain-drenched meadows lie, Heavy with mist each one! And the elm-trees stand how silently Against the horizon!

Oh, Love, oh, Life, most strange, most blind Are our days beneath the sun! A leaf on the water; on the wind A feather — and all is done. The market-town still sleeps — Sweet Christ, How motionless it seems! As if one night of rain sufficed To cover it with dreams.

Can it be only yesterday. On this same bridge I stood. And watched the red sun sink away Behind a fairy wood? The gods protect us all! So soon Can summer cease? So light Can they drift, the leaves that played love's tune? Can the world end in a night?