Autumn, like Atalanta, fleetly flees, Galey robes streaming, leaf-blown down the wind; And 'tis our pleading hearts that race behind Striving to clasp her by her golden knees, To stay her sorrowful beauty, -- but the trees Glance with her brilliant flight. Oh, grave and kind, Hide ye no russet hoards, that we may find And fling the apples of Hippomenes? Clouded about with birds, fawn-nuzzled, still Her speed outstrips us, and the woods are dead Of dream or color -- all their incense fled! Across the burning marsh she gains the hill And breathless turns her beautiful, bright head And mocks with pagan laughter, sweetly shrill. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: SHACK DYE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS WHY I WRITE NOT OF LOVE by BEN JONSON YOU LINGERING SPARSE LEAVES OF ME by WALT WHITMAN WINDS OF LIFE by MARJORIE DUGDALE ASHE THE LAURELS ARE FELLED by THEODORE FAULLAIN DE BANVILLE TO A CHILD, THE DAUGHTER OF A FRIEND by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD |