For works with similar titles, see Autumn.
AUTUMN
As Lais, Corinth's fairest courtesan
Knowing her beauty had begun to fade
Lest any matron, any shrill-voiced maid
Should mock her, straight renounced all love of man—
And hung her polished silver mirror high
On Venus' statue where it might reflect
Only the clouds with changing colors decked,
The azure, snow and opal of the sky—
So now doth autumn turn away her head
To hide the touch of frost on velvet-red
Of dahlias, on the perfumed cream and pink
Of garden-asters on the maples' gold,
And dreading her own image to behold
Fills every pool with dead leaves to the brink.
Knowing her beauty had begun to fade
Lest any matron, any shrill-voiced maid
Should mock her, straight renounced all love of man—
And hung her polished silver mirror high
On Venus' statue where it might reflect
Only the clouds with changing colors decked,
The azure, snow and opal of the sky—
So now doth autumn turn away her head
To hide the touch of frost on velvet-red
Of dahlias, on the perfumed cream and pink
Of garden-asters on the maples' gold,
And dreading her own image to behold
Fills every pool with dead leaves to the brink.