AUTUMN SONG
(From the French of Paul Verlaine)
The autumn gale
Doth sob and wail
Like viols eerie;
Its monotone,
So like a groan,
My soul doth weary.
And hark! a bell
That's like a knell
For dead hope tolling!
Then sorrows past
Arise and fast
The tears are rolling!
Sad sport of grief,
Like a dead leaf
I shrink and wither;
No refuge nigh
I vainly fly
Hither and thither.
98
