THE FALL OF THE LEAF

Waipa Post, Volume 44, Issue 3183, 28 May 1932, Page 3 (Supplement)

THE FALL OF THE LEAF

A SEASONAL RETROSPECT. By C.H.S. In spring time we dance with the joy of life; in autumn we tread heavily, for there is a pensive sadness in the air, and the dark shadows of winter lurk about our path. Autumn has been invested with many titles, both weii’d and beautiful. To this very day the people in the north of England refer to it as the “ backend.” But its most popular name for many centuri'es has been “ the fail of the leaf.” In 1543 Roger Ascham named the seasons as “ spring tyme, somer, faule of the leafe and winter.” In Shakespeare we read of the gardener saying of the unfortunate Richai’d— \ He that hath suffer’d this disorder’d spring Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf. The “ Compleat Angler ” reminds us of the delightful charm in which the woi’d “ fail ” is used in the Milkmaid’s Mother’s Answer:— The flowers do fade, and wanton fields To waywai’d winter reckoning yields. A honey tongue, a hear of gall, Is fancy’s spring, but sorrow’s fall. The falling of a leaf bi’ings to many hearts a sadness. We know that the happy, sunlit days can be no more than pleasant memoi'ies. Yet Barrie wi'ote:—“ Thei’e is almost nothing that has such a keen sense of fun as a fallen leaf.” It is a happy paradox. Thei’e is a playfulness in the way a leaf rolls and skittles and turns somersaults on the earth. But the happy-seeming picture is not without its touch of melancholy. We cannot help but feel how cruelly the burden of death lies upon the life of Nature. There is no tenderness, no mei’cy, only a ruthless fulfilling of a supi’eme law. In the autumn picture thei’e is, too, a mystery. We see the leaf float to earth, but not one of us actually sees it leave the tree. The last thread of life is snapped when the leaf is severed from the branch of its life, and that moment of passing from life to death is unobserved by man. In various moods of thought have the poets immortalised the autumn season. Robert Browning sings of the joy of taking to the road on a fresh autumn morning, but Thomas Hood can dwell only on the dreariness of the English November. In his “ Ode to Autumn,” Keats appeals to us to put the vision of spring from our minds, and instead to respond to the beauty of autumn, for “ thou hast thy music too.” Alice Meynell, m “ In Autumn,” has given us a beautiful glimpse at the time which is no more: — I walk to love and life alone Over the mournful places, Across the summer overthrown, The dead joys of these silent faces, To claim my own. O leaves so quietly ending now, You have heard cuckoos sing. 0 tell me, tell me ere you die, Is it worth the pain? You bloomed so fair, you waved so high; Now that the sad days wane, Are you repenting where you lie? Edward Fitz Gerald could find little happiness in this season. He could only long for the warm days that lay beyond the dreary rains and biting winds. His only comfort was a book and_a pipe of tobacco by the cheery hearth— I never look out, Nor attend to the blast, • For all to be seen Is the leaves falling fast, Falling, falling But close at the hearth, Like a cricket sit I, Reading of summer And chivalry— Gallant chivalry. Every season has its message. In spring it is the zest to live joyously; in autumn there is a powerful and simple call which asks us what are we going to do with this time of falling leaves. It is, in truth, an etching of life. The hardship and suffering of life causes human leaves to droop and die, smitten down and crushed by the seemingly uncontrollable blasts of economic chaos and social injustice. Here in broken whispers, there in agonised clamour, the autumn of life challenges the spirit of man. In the history of the world we of the challenge being accepted again’ and again. it is the secret of evolutionary progress, social justice and human kindliness. There was a time when men committed manifold cruelties and brutalities under the blind influence of primitive superstition and traditional custom. It was the autumn of man’s sojourn on the earth. Slowly the light of spring dawned and vanquished the autumn of our “moody, ignorant youth.” Abraham Lincoln fought the autumn of slavery; Lord Shafesbury in his Factory Acts agitation fought the autumn blight that tore and bled a suppressed and helpless people, and in Australia they have the vivid recollection of forty years ago and quite recently of men fighting against the curse. of sweated labour through the medium of pen and public platform. Man has ever shown a perversity against the settling down of autumn.

When the poet Robert Browning went into a house in Wimpole Street, London, he found Elizabeth Barrett, a physically crushed woman, with the shadow of death hovering about her couch. She was a fading leaf in danger of being swept off the tree of life. Her family and friends, all who went into the sick room, did not protest against the cruelty of this autumn. They were willing to accept it. But Browning loved. Through the power of his manhood and the patience and determination of his

character he gave his life. To her his “ voice said in mastery, not death but love.” With the faith he gave her to seek life she found it in abounding fulness. She left her couch, beheld the wonders of the earth, and bore a child. The story is rich in beauty, and it portrays a glorious truth. Browning had refused to accept the tragedy of autumn. He had believed in the miracle of spring. So he conquered, as Elizabeth wrote in her lovely “ Sonnets From the Portuguese ” Conquering May prove as lordly and complete a thing In lifting upward as in crushing low To-day autumn is settling down upon us. The pathways of the world are strewn with human fading leaves in a tragic plenteousness. But spring abundantly abides in youth. Is it too much to believe that what Browning could do for a woman he loved youth can do for a humanity it is called to serve? Can it believe, as Shelley sang— The trumpet of prophecy! 0 wind, If winter comes, can spring be far behind ? The prophecy can become only a living reality through the manifestation of the human courage of faith and the purity of hope.