Thomas Hardy — The Master and the Leaves

I We are budding, Master, budding,        &nbsp We of your favourite tree; March drought and April flooding        &nbsp Arouse us merrily, Our stemlets newly studding;        &nbsp And yet you do not see! II        &nbspWe are fully woven for summer In stuff of limpest green, The twitterer and the hummer        &nbsp Here rest of nights, unseen, While like a long-roll drummer        &nbsp The nightjar thrills the treen. III We are turning yellow, Master,        &nbsp And next we are turning red, And faster then and faster        &nbsp Shall seek our rooty bed, All wasted in disaster!        &nbsp But you lift not your head. IV - “I mark your early going,        &nbsp And that you’ll soon be clay, I have seen your summer showing        &nbsp As in my youthful day; But why I seem unknowing        &nbsp Is too sunk in to say!”