You Lingering Sparse Leaves of Me” You lingering sparse leaves of me on winter-nearing boughs, And I some well-shorn tree of field or orchard-row; Y… - Walt Whitman

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You Lingering Sparse Leaves of Me”

You lingering sparse leaves of me on winter-nearing boughs,
And I some well-shorn tree of field or orchard-row;
You tokens diminute and lorn — (not now the flush of May,
or July clover-bloom — no grain of August now;)
You pallid banner-staves — you pennants valueless — you overstay’d of
time,
Yet my soul-dearest leaves confirming all the rest,
The faithfulest — hardiest — last.