 | Nature-notes and impressions in prose and verse |  |
[The wind is rising and the leaves are blown]
The wind is rising and the leaves are blown,Wild, swallow-high, reluctant still to fall,
Swarming from hill to hill; and over all
The sere, wild-sounding oaks a voice calls lone,
As if the wood some ancient word were sighing,
Some unintelligible word of beauty dying.
| Nature-notes and impressions in prose and verse | |