 | Under Cross and Crescent |  |
85
IN AUTUMN
Dearest, the winds are chill, the ways are wet,
The golden grain is gather'd in the sheaf,
And, like a wounded bird, the first dead leaf
Falls at our feet, but seems to quiver yet
As with a pang of passionate regret
For days so brief.
The golden grain is gather'd in the sheaf,
And, like a wounded bird, the first dead leaf
Falls at our feet, but seems to quiver yet
As with a pang of passionate regret
For days so brief.
Nay, Time, our master, taketh no denial
Whether our skies smile fair, or weep for grief:
Yet as his warning shadow gains relief
When gayest sunshine glistens on the dial,
So brightest days outspeed our days of trial,
Though both are brief!
Whether our skies smile fair, or weep for grief:
Yet as his warning shadow gains relief
When gayest sunshine glistens on the dial,
So brightest days outspeed our days of trial,
Though both are brief!
| Under Cross and Crescent | |