The Last Leaf
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- I SAW him once before,
- As he passed by the door,
- And again
- The pavement stones resound,
- As he totters o'er the ground
- With his cane.
- They say that in his prime,
- Ere the pruning-knife of Time
- Cut him down,
- Not a better man was found
- By the Crier on his round
- Through the town.
- But now he walks the streets,
- And he looks at all he meets
- Sad and wan,
- And he shakes his feeble head,
- That it seems as if he said,
- "They are gone."
- The mossy marbles rest
- On the lips that he has prest
- In their bloom,
- And the names he loved to hear
- Have been carved for many a year
- On the tomb.
- My grandmamma has said--
- Poor old lady, she is dead
- Long ago--
- That he had a Roman nose,
- And his cheek was like a rose
- In the snow.
- But now his nose is thin,
- And it rests upon his chin
- Like a staff,
- And a crook is in his back,
- And a melancholy crack
- In his laugh.
- I know it is a sin
- For me to sit and grin
- At him here;
- But the old three-cornered hat,
- And the breeches, and all that,
- Are so queer!
- And if I should live to be
- The last leaf upon the tree
- In the spring,
- Let them smile, as I do now,
- At the old forsaken bough
- Where I cling.
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