Gather the leaves from the forest br And blow them over the world, br The wind of winter follows br The wind of autumn furled. br br Only the beech tree cherishes br A leaf or two for ruth, br Their stems too tough for the tempest, br Like thoughts of love and of youth. br br You may sit by the fire and ponder br While darkness veils the pane, br And fear that your memories are rushing away br In the wind and the rain. br br But you'll find them in the quiet br When the clouds race with the moon, br Making the tender silver sound br Of a beech in the month of June. br br For you cannot rob the memory br Of the leaves it loves the best; br The wind of time may harry them, br It rushes away with the rest.