Woods of brown gloom sombring with the hush of death...

Woods of brown gloom sombring with the hush of death,

Wind's lassitude that sets the tired leaves shivering,

Starved yellow leaves sighing beneath the feet, a breath

Consumptive, old, and fever-red leaves quivering,

As with an earthward flutter like a ghostly butterfly

Listless they perish, wavering and hovering.

Skeleton branches where the rooks flap wings and cry,

Perched upon ribs and fingers; and the white mists covering

The far-off hills and bloodless visage of the sun.

No noise save the meandering dribble of a rivulet,

No noise save of the slow hours dropping one by one

As embers, no colour save Time's ashen coverlet....

How melancholy here the gayest tunes would sound

From shrill carousers riotous and merry all,

As echoes of lost joy their dancing feet upon the ground,

As funeral bagpipes at a burial.

And I who wander passionless and forlorn,

A leaf-forsaken tree symbolic of dejection,

In rags of old desires, dispirited and torn,

See in the stagnant glass of Time my soul's reflection.