IN MEMORIAM: G. LAURA SHUMAN (October 15, 1877-March

THE LEAVES

IN PRAISE OF LEAVES

WITH open palms held shyly to the sky,

Like acolytes that tremble as they vow, The frail leaves waver on the tranquil bough. The hush that hails the dusk, itself a sigh, Presses the trees, too startled to reply. The slender shadows of the spring are fled, And summer's slumbrous masses, in their stead, Linger beneath the nestling's lullaby.

grace,

O you, brave harbingers of bridal Junes,
Most patient Leaves, whose charm is selfless
What dower hovers in your lisping runes
That thus you dare so near the heaven's face?
What lovers lorn, O craving Leaves, are you,
The thankless clouds eternally to woo?

THE VICTOR'S CROWN

7ITHIN the tree-tops, fearfully and still,

WITH

The Victor's crown is woven; leaf on leaf Night's windy fingers ply their purpose brief. Shaped with unerring craft, the branches thrill With prophecies the centuries fulfil,

Faint voices severed from their vernal souls.
What aspirant lurks here, whom triumph doles
A trophy which the foundling breezes will?
What one is he the wilderness doth guide,
Baring, with lure of Bay, its thicket door?
Hath he a hope to breast the rustling tide
Surging and breaking on a spaceless shore?
Or is he led, enslaved by wishes deep,
A Victor, vanquished, to his empty sleep?