 | Poems |  |
141
AUTUMN.
Once more I feel the breezes that I love
Of Spanish autumn stabbing leaf and flower,
Cold cuts the wind, the gray sky frowns above,
The world enjoys a gloomy hour.
Of Spanish autumn stabbing leaf and flower,
Cold cuts the wind, the gray sky frowns above,
The world enjoys a gloomy hour.
I love thee, Autumn, ruthless harvester!
Thou dost permit my stagnant veins to flow,
And in my heart a Poet's feelings stir,
To thee a Poet's fruits I owe.
Thou dost permit my stagnant veins to flow,
And in my heart a Poet's feelings stir,
To thee a Poet's fruits I owe.
My boughs shall hang with ripened tribute due,
I will repay the life that in me lies,
The cold wind shakes off fruits the which if true,
Must gathered be by those sweet eyes.
I will repay the life that in me lies,
The cold wind shakes off fruits the which if true,
Must gathered be by those sweet eyes.
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