Page:The Yellow Book - 04.djvu/275

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An Autumn Elegy

Now it is fitting, and becomes us all
To think how fast our time of being fades.
The Year puts down his mead-cup, with a sigh,
  And kneels, deep in the red and yellow glades,
   And tells his beads like one about to die;
    For, when the last leaves fall,
He must away unto a bare, cold cell
  In white St. Winter's monastery; there
  To do hard penance for the joys that were,
Until the New Year tolls his passing-bell.

And 'tis in vain to whisper, "Be of cheer,
There is a resurrection after death;
  When Autumn tears will turn to Spring-time rain,
As through the earth the Spirit quickeneth
  Toward the old, glad Summer-life again!"
    He will not smile to hear,
But only look more sorrowful, and say,
  "How can you mock me if you love me? No;
  The day draws very nigh when I must go;
The new will be the new; I pass away."

The Yellow Book—Vol. IV.
P
Yet,