AUTUMN LEAVES
Oh, droop, sky of Autumn, chaste azure-browed Queen—
Droop and whisper the leaves a good-bye!
For thy cloud-woven bridal-veil decks thee, I ween,
As the bride of bold Winter, sweet sky ;
To his gloom-haunted fortunes, and cold couch of storms,
To his frowns and rude buffets, and ice-bristling arms,
We resign thee in sadness—good-bye!
Droop and whisper the leaves a good-bye!
For thy cloud-woven bridal-veil decks thee, I ween,
As the bride of bold Winter, sweet sky ;
To his gloom-haunted fortunes, and cold couch of storms,
To his frowns and rude buffets, and ice-bristling arms,
We resign thee in sadness—good-bye!
All gracefully, tenderly, ever so near—
Like a beautiful maiden that grieves—
The pale spouse of Winter, on forest and mere,
Stoops to toy with the death-painted leaves;
Flaming crimson, warm scarlet, to match gold and brown,
Like a rich, tattered sunset, fall fluttering down
From the hand of the maiden that grieves!
Like a beautiful maiden that grieves—
The pale spouse of Winter, on forest and mere,
Stoops to toy with the death-painted leaves;
Flaming crimson, warm scarlet, to match gold and brown,
Like a rich, tattered sunset, fall fluttering down
From the hand of the maiden that grieves!
A desolate peace is abroad o'er the world,
And the heart neither laughs now nor cries;
But the banners of Summer are gloomily furled;
Leaves and lips have no language but sighs:
While a noise as of shrouds that are trailing is heard
Where the crisp robes of Autumn are rustled and stirred,
But the heart neither laughs now nor cries.
And the heart neither laughs now nor cries;
But the banners of Summer are gloomily furled;
Leaves and lips have no language but sighs:
While a noise as of shrouds that are trailing is heard
Where the crisp robes of Autumn are rustled and stirred,
But the heart neither laughs now nor cries.
Oh, bright, beauteous leaves—how they glittered and tossed
In the sheen of the long Summer's day,
When the warm, wanton zephyrs, the meadows across,
Came to join them in amorous play.
But the meadows are dismal, and barren and cold,
And the hoarse winds that rove them grown ruthless and bold,
Since the lapse of the long Summer's day.
In the sheen of the long Summer's day,
When the warm, wanton zephyrs, the meadows across,
Came to join them in amorous play.
But the meadows are dismal, and barren and cold,
And the hoarse winds that rove them grown ruthless and bold,
Since the lapse of the long Summer's day.
Oh, green, glossy leaves, how they quivered and sighed,
In wild dreams of the wonderful night—
When the moon like a silvery barge on the tide,
Dashed her prow through the lilies of light,
And the lass and her lover, at trysting beneath,
Twined their beautiful love with a mingling of breath,
And were part of the wonderful night.
In wild dreams of the wonderful night—
When the moon like a silvery barge on the tide,
Dashed her prow through the lilies of light,
And the lass and her lover, at trysting beneath,
Twined their beautiful love with a mingling of breath,
And were part of the wonderful night.
Alas for the leaves ! dipped in dyes of the morn—
Crimson-plashed in the life of the year—
Oh! their clustering grace is dishevelled and torn,
And they scatter, distracted with fear:
And no haunt is too meek for their wearisome quest,
As they drift on forever in dreary unrest—
Plashed and stained in the life of the year.
Crimson-plashed in the life of the year—
Oh! their clustering grace is dishevelled and torn,
And they scatter, distracted with fear:
And no haunt is too meek for their wearisome quest,
As they drift on forever in dreary unrest—
Plashed and stained in the life of the year.
Thus loved ones and lovely, though honored the most,
Are cast down from the heights they adorn:
Yet lovely, though smitten, are drifted and tossed
To be in a pitiless scorn;
Thus our hopes, bravely hung on life's tempest-blown tree,
Bloom and blanch in our dreams of a glorious "To Be,"
But are torn from the heights they adorn!
Are cast down from the heights they adorn:
Yet lovely, though smitten, are drifted and tossed
To be in a pitiless scorn;
Thus our hopes, bravely hung on life's tempest-blown tree,
Bloom and blanch in our dreams of a glorious "To Be,"
But are torn from the heights they adorn!