One by one, like leaves from a tree,
All my faiths have forsaken me; 
But the stars above my head 
Burn in white and delicate red, 
And beneath my feet the earth 
Brings the sturdy grass to birth. 
I who was content to be
But a silken-singing tree,
But a rustle of delight
In the wistful heart of night,
I have lost the leaves that knew 
Touch of rain and weight of dew. 
Blinded by a leafy crown
I looked neither up nor down— 
But the little leaves that die 
Have left me room to see the sky; 
Now for the first time I know 
Stars above and earth below.