Choice Specimens of American Literature, and Literary Reader · Chapter 298=378.= the Last Leaf
This chapter is not translated yet. You are reading the original.
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.
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.
* * * * *
From "The Professor at the Breakfast Table."