THE sky has donned a mourning veil, The trees a miserere wail, A wintry wind is blowing chill O'er barren dale and frosty hill; While Autumn, at its icy breath, Now prostrate lieth—still in death. In death? Ah no, she sleeps to-night In cerements of dazzling white. She sleeps the dusky hours away, And dreams that Spring is on the way; That birds are circling in the air, And breath of flowerets everywhere. Then Nature waves a magic wand, And Summer roses deck the land, The sportive Southland zephyrs blow, And butterflies flash to and fro. Lo! Spring and Summer both have fled, And Autumn, risen from the dead, Appears in splendor, as of old, In sunset hues of red and gold. Her sleep is past, her dreams are o'er, The sunshine floods her prison door; Its lintels fringed with golden-rod, While purple asters prank the sod. As seasons pass breathe not a sigh, For Nature's glories never die! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OF ANY OLD MAN by ISAAC ROSENBERG PARTING AT MORNING by ROBERT BROWNING DORIS; A PASTORAL by ARTHUR JOSEPH MUNBY THERE IS NOTHING STRANGE by ARCHILOCHUS A VOYAGE TO CYTHERA by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE THREE by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON |