The Fruits of Death

Said the folded Leaves upon the Heath
   To the opening Leaves upon the Tree:
“Soon will the Warders of the Storm
   Bring us to our Mother-Sea,
Even as they opened yesternight
   Our prison doors of Destiny:
We envy not the Birds now nor the Dew;
To them we leave the Forest and to you.”

The infant Leaves thus made reply:
   “But we rejoice that we are here;
We stand in the cerulean Gate
   Of Life to crown the dying Year.
Him who emancipates we love,
   He who enchains is also dear:
You are the Flowers of the Storm, and we,
We are the Fruits of Death upon Life’s tree.