The Fruits of Death

Said the folded Leaves upon the Heath To the opening Leaves upon the Tree: “Soon will the Warders of the Storm Bring us to our Mother-Sea, Even as they opened yesternight Our prison doors of Destiny: We envy not the Birds now nor the Dew; To them we leave the Forest and to you.”

The infant Leaves thus made reply: “But we rejoice that we are here; We stand in the cerulean Gate Of Life to crown the dying Year. Him who emancipates we love, He who enchains is also dear: You are the Flowers of the Storm, and we, We are the Fruits of Death upon Life’s tree.