The little leaves tremble and shake, turn and quake, over and over tearing their stems. There is a shower ofyoung leave and a sudden-sprung gale wails in the trees The yellow-wheeled chaise is rocking-- rocking and all the branches are knocking--knocking. The sun in the sky is a flat red plate the branches creak and grate. She screams and cowers, for the green foliage is a lowering wave surging to smother her. But she sees nothin The stake holds firm. The body writhes, the body squirms The blue spots widen, the flesh tears, but the stake wearsw in the deep black ground. It holds the body in the still black ground Two years! The body has been in the ground two years. It is worn away it is clay to clay. Where the heart moulders, a greenish dust the stake is thrust. Late August it is, and night; a night flauntingly JeweledThe little leaves tremble and shake, turn and quake, over and over, tearing their stems. There is a shower of young leaves, and a sudden-sprung gale wails in the trees. The yellow-wheeled chaise is rocking -- rocking, and all the branches are knocking -- knocking. The sun in the sky is a flat, red plate, the branches creak and grate. She screams and cowers, for the green foliage is a lowering wave surging to smother her. But she sees nothing. The stake holds firm. The body writhes, the body squirms. The blue spots widen, the flesh tears, but the stake wears well in the deep, black ground. It holds the body in the still, black ground. Two years! The body has been in the ground two years. It is worn away; it is clay to clay. Where the heart moulders, a greenish dust, the stake is thrust. Late August it is, and night; a night flauntingly jeweled