Art thou about me...

Art thou about me

Amid falling leaves

And autumn's circling winds

When the golden shadows

Grow russet and rosy

And the purple sunset sets fire to the sky?

Art thou the breath

That burns my being

When cold feel my limbs in terror, and awe?

Who art thou? My love?

Stranger in a strange garb!

Far and farther to be nearer to my heart!

Why make spring-flames leap

From passion's autumn leaves?

Why this urge through fatigue

When time falls fast asleep

Under the shadow of its grave —

The winter ice?

Yet, and yet

The circling winds

Repeat passionate speech,

The sunset burns,

As my soul

In desire's golden heat,

Though night be not far

Shadows creep near

With chilling breath and clutching hands

To pluck

To destroy

The flowers of yielding from your heart:

Powerless, fear-stricken;

I tremble, I stagger, I fall

Into oblivion's pit

As time creeps

Into winter's grave

Silent, empty, white.