The Red Stain on the Leaves

The Red Stain on the Leaves G. W. BUNGAY The wood-bird's nest upon the bough Deserted hangs, and heaped with leaves: Once filled with life and joy, but now Sad as a stricken heart that grieves. Amid the light of such a scene, Where silent vales and hills are clad In gayest hues of gold and green, Why should the human heart be sad? Yet sombre thoughts flit through the mind, And pass unspoken and unsung. As leaves, touched by the autumn wind, Fall from the twigs to which they clung. Here, like the patriarch in his dream, We see the ladder angels trod, The mountains to our vision seem To lean against the throne of God. The vales of golden mist that rise Over die woodlands to the sea, Drop where the gallant soldier lies, Whose furlough is eternity. Upon the leaves now sere and red, That once were flakes of fire to me, I see the blood our armies shed, That our dear country might be free. 82 ...