Leaves

by Sara Teasdale

　　

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One by one, like leaves from a tree, All my faiths have forsaken me; But the stars above my head Burn in white and delicate red, And beneath my feet the earth Brings the sturdy grass to birth. I who was content to be But a silken-singing tree, But a rustle of delight In the wistful heart of night I have lost the leaves that knew Touch of rain and weight of dew. Blinded by a leafy crown I looked neither up nor down But the little leaves that die Have left me room to see the sky; Now for the first time I know Stars above and earth below.

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