You Lingering Sparse Leaves of Me

Twilight

The soft voluptuous opiate shades,
The sun just gone, the eager light dispell’d—(I too will soon be
gone, dispell’d,)
A haze—nirwana—rest and night—oblivion.

You lingering sparse leaves of me on winter-nearing boughs,
And I some well-shorn tree of field or orchard-row;
You tokens diminute and lorn—(not now the flush of May, or July
clover-bloom—no grain of August now;)
You pallid banner-staves—you pennants valueless—you overstay’d of time,
Yet my soul-dearest leaves confirming all the rest,
The faithfulest—hardiest—last.