The Autumn Tree

HARK to the sighing of yon fading tree,
Yon tree that rocks, as if with sense distressed ;
Its seems complaining that its destiny
Should send the gale to desolate its breast.
Oh, heed it, wind ! oh, listen to its sigh !
Regard the pathos of its falling leaves ;
Attend unto its oft-repeated cry,
And slack the fury that the bough bereaves.
Lo, have they not rejoiced in summer days ;
And have they not felt peace in summer nights ?
Warded from beast the scorching noontide blaze ;
Guided, for man, the fire-flies' evening flights ?
Oh, sweep not, then, so rudely o'er each spray,
But let them gently slowly pass away !