THE Autumn is old, The sere leaves are flying: He hath gather'd up gold, And now he is dying; Old Age, begin sighing! The vintage is ripe, The harvest is heaping; -- But some that have sow'd Have no riches for reaping; -- Poor wretch, fall a-weeping! The year's in the wane, There is nothing adorning, The night has no eve, And the day has no morning; -- Cold winter gives warning. The rivers run chill, The red sun is sinking, And I am grown old, And life is fast shrinking; -- Here's enow for sad thinking! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE TWENTY-THIRD PSALM by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE SHE CAME AND WENT by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL IN THE LAND WHERE WE WERE DREAMING by DANIEL BEDINGER LUCAS THE DUG-OUT by SIEGFRIED SASSOON LOVE DISSEMBLED, FR. AS YOU LIKE IT by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE ASTROPHEL AND STELLA: 71 by PHILIP SIDNEY |