SEPTEMBER.
Sorrowful Autumn! my summer is over;
Roses no longer shall surfeit the bee;
White crowding daisies and honey-sweet clover
Shiver and perish, breathed on by thee.
Roses no longer shall surfeit the bee;
White crowding daisies and honey-sweet clover
Shiver and perish, breathed on by thee.
All the fair blossoms that trembled at morning,
Heavy with dew in the wandering wind,
Hang their frail bells at thy trumpet of warning,
Scatter their lives on the tempest unkind.
Heavy with dew in the wandering wind,
Hang their frail bells at thy trumpet of warning,
Scatter their lives on the tempest unkind.
Over the forest the bitterns are flying,
Golden and scarlet the maple-trees stand,
Out of the black East a rain-song is sighing,
Pitiless, desolate, death is at hand!
Golden and scarlet the maple-trees stand,
Out of the black East a rain-song is sighing,
Pitiless, desolate, death is at hand!
Far in the North, like a vision of sorrow,
Rise the white snow-drifts to topple and fall;
Winds of wild fury shall hurl them to-morrow
Deeply and hopelessly far over all.
Rise the white snow-drifts to topple and fall;
Winds of wild fury shall hurl them to-morrow
Deeply and hopelessly far over all.
