
The Master and the Leaves Thomas Hardy
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I
We are budding, Master, budding,
  We of your favourite tree;
March drought and April flooding
  Arouse us merrily,
Our stemlets newly studding;
  And yet you do not see!
II
 We are fully woven for summer
In stuff of limpest green,
The twitterer and the hummer
  Here rest of nights, unseen,
While like a long-roll drummer
  The nightjar thrills the treen.
III
We are turning yellow, Master,
  And next we are turning red,
And faster then and faster
  Shall seek our rooty bed,
All wasted in disaster!
  But you lift not your head.
We are budding, Master, budding,
  We of your favourite tree;
March drought and April flooding
  Arouse us merrily,
Our stemlets newly studding;
  And yet you do not see!
II
 We are fully woven for summer
In stuff of limpest green,
The twitterer and the hummer
  Here rest of nights, unseen,
While like a long-roll drummer
  The nightjar thrills the treen.
III
We are turning yellow, Master,
  And next we are turning red,
And faster then and faster
  Shall seek our rooty bed,
All wasted in disaster!
  But you lift not your head.
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