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AUTUMNAL
AUTUMNAL
In all the pleasances where Love was lord,Blossom the mournful immortelles alone;The fallen roses crumble, and are blown,A snow of red, about the barren sward.
The misty sun is grown a dimmer gold:Only the leaves, the leaves forever seemTo tell and treasure, in a gorgeous dream,The aureate fervour of the dawns of old.
Only for us remains the memoryOf sultry moons and summer suns that were;And we have found, where fallen roses stir,The immortelles that flower mournfully.
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