Scottish Poetry Selection
- The Ash
The AshUpon a wild October day,
When beeches mellowed brown and red,
And yellow flakes of poplar lay
For every foot to tread,
I saw an ash beside the way
Against the storm uplift her head:
"Hold on, my leaves: and scorn decay-
Not yet the time," she said.
"Live bravely out your last of life: for why?
To dream of coming death is half to die."
Upon the still November morn,
That wakened from the starry night
When winter's first of frost was born,
And all was moony-white,
The ash of every leaf was shorn;
Yet as they took their deathward flight,
Their dream had been of blossomed thorn-
So green they lay and light:
And from above I heard the parting sigh-
"Farewell, my children; thus 'tis best to die."
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