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The Autumn Garden

by Edmund Gosse

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I

The winds that dash these August dahlias down,
And chase the streams of light across the grass,
This solemn watery air, like clouded glass,
This perfume on the terrace bare and brown,
Are like the soundless flush of full renown
That gathers with the gathering years that pass,
And weaves for happy, glorious life, alas!
Of sorrow and of solitude a crown.
I know not what this load is on my heart,
But in these alleys I have loved so long,
Filled from old years with retrospect and song,
I wander aimless, ready to depart,
Prepared to welcome, with no frightened start,
The fatal spectre and the shrouded throng.