Green
Tree-leaves which, till the growing-season’s done,
Change into wood the powers of the sun,
Take from that radiance only reds and blues.
Green is a color that they cannot use,
And so their rustling myriads are seen
To wear all summer an extraneous green,
A green with no apparent role, unless
To be the symbol of a great largesse
Which has no end, though autumn may revoke
That shade from yellowed ash and rusted oak.