Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 1.djvu/341

281 AND

THE FALLING LEAVES.

way look, my Infant, lo!

What a pretty baby show!

See the Kitten on the Wall,

Sporting with the leaves that fall,

Withered leaves—one—two—and three—

From the lofty Elder-tree!

Through the calm and frosty air

Of this morning bright and fair

Eddying round and round they sink

Softly, slowly: one might think,

From the motions that are made,

Every little leaf convey'd

Sylph or Faery hither tending,—

To this lower world descending,

Each invisible and mute,

In his wavering parachute.