 | The wind in the trees |  |
85
AUTUMN DAY
The day goeth in gray
Like a gray nun;
There's a bird on the highest spray
Singing that summer's done:
Singing so sad and gay
Of summers over and gone.
Like a gray nun;
There's a bird on the highest spray
Singing that summer's done:
Singing so sad and gay
Of summers over and gone.
The day's wimple of gray
Round her cheeks drawn
Hides what her eyes say;
A wimple finer than lawn
Hides the eyes of the day
Since the gray flower of dawn.
Round her cheeks drawn
Hides what her eyes say;
A wimple finer than lawn
Hides the eyes of the day
Since the gray flower of dawn.
86
She counteth her rosaries
Of the minutes and hours.
Dewy gray are her eyes—
Gray eyes, sweeter than flowers.
She keepeth her mysteries
Holy in her gray bowers.
Of the minutes and hours.
Dewy gray are her eyes—
Gray eyes, sweeter than flowers.
She keepeth her mysteries
Holy in her gray bowers.
The day goeth so slow,
Like a gray nun,
Whispering sweet and low
Orison, benison.
And only to see her go
The stars come one by one.
Like a gray nun,
Whispering sweet and low
Orison, benison.
And only to see her go
The stars come one by one.
| The wind in the trees | |