University of Virginia Library


121

RONDEAU

In Autumn when the leaf is sere,
In that still season of the year,
Shall we not meet once more we twain,
Who parted in the Spring of pain?
With eyes of passion long grown clear,
When youth is gone and Winter near,
May we not meet once more my dear,
Touch hands, forgive and part again,
In Autumn?
Tho' bitter anger still doth blear,
The glory of the days that were,
In rare still hours are you not fain
To cry a truce to dear disdain,
In Autumn?