Is this that tree whose upper branches swayed
lighter than vapour in the summer sky
and even cooled the cloudtops with its shade,
saluting heaven which was so close by?
Are these the budding twigs that drank the cloud
before a single drop of rain did plummet?
And are these leaves the same as those that ploughed
gentle white furrows in the summer's summit?
If so, then Autumn's cruelty has excelled
to poison so such healthy happiness,
for beauty that by heaven is expelled
can never more enjoy the clouds' caress.