38
THE AUTUMN SHEAF
Dead leaves, and dust more dead, to fall apart,
Leaves spreading once in arches over me,
And dust enclosing once a loving heart,
Still I am happy with youth's mystery.
Leaves spreading once in arches over me,
And dust enclosing once a loving heart,
Still I am happy with youth's mystery.
It cannot be unbound,—my autumn sheaf;
So let it stand, the ruin of my past;
Returning autumn brings the old belief,
Its mystery all its own, and it will last.
So let it stand, the ruin of my past;
Returning autumn brings the old belief,
Its mystery all its own, and it will last.
