AUTUMN LOVE

Once I could love this season of the year,

And watch the calm and delicate decline

Of Summer gladly; I could see the pine

Deep green on bluest sky, and laugh for cheer

Of very living. Yet I'd fain appear

Th’ unhurried gourmet, tasting of my wine,

Lingering o'er memories of the purpled vine,

Loath for each passing moment. Ah, my dear,

Now like a careless child, I toss the hours

Over my shoulder, I forget the sun,

The dewy dawn, the white moon and the flowers.

Like a tired pilgrim with his goal in view,

Looking not right nor left, I run, I run

To that bright day of days that brings me you.

I feel as murderers feel, who, having slain

Their love, laugh with red hands and do not care.

I took sweet Summer by her lovely hair,

Bent her white throat, and gladly saw the stain

Crimson her green leaf-gown of hill and plain.

I would not wait for her last kiss, nor spare

One splendid flying hour, for chill and fair

Autumn, my love, comes near me thro’ the rain.

Pale with mysterious wonder, her deep eyes

Are wells of wisdom; fugitive, astray

From a blue land that dreams beyond the skies.

‘ Tis done. I lay young Summer on her pyre,

And turning, burn thro’ distance to the day

That brings me to the lips of my desire.