 | Shamrocks |  |
112
AUTUMNAL.
In September
The land grows gold with miles of waving wheat:
Sad heart, dost thou remember
How tall and fair the green spears stood in May?
Alack! the merry morn that might not stay;
'Tis sunset now, and night comes, grey and fleet.
The land grows gold with miles of waving wheat:
Sad heart, dost thou remember
How tall and fair the green spears stood in May?
Alack! the merry morn that might not stay;
'Tis sunset now, and night comes, grey and fleet.
In September
Droopeth the red fruit in the orchard close:
Sad heart, dost thou remember
How the boughs bloomed auroral in the May,
Waxed paler, flushed rose-redder day by day?
For these we shall have Winter with his snows.
Droopeth the red fruit in the orchard close:
Sad heart, dost thou remember
How the boughs bloomed auroral in the May,
Waxed paler, flushed rose-redder day by day?
For these we shall have Winter with his snows.
In September
Chirps the bright robin with his breast a-fire:
Sad heart, dost thou remember
How the thrush trilled her love-song in the May,
And the bold blackbird sang when eve was grey?
Silence hath fallen on all the tuneful choir.
Chirps the bright robin with his breast a-fire:
Sad heart, dost thou remember
113
And the bold blackbird sang when eve was grey?
Silence hath fallen on all the tuneful choir.
In September
Redly the trees like wind-blown cressets burn:
Sad heart, dost thou remember
How the leaves gleamed transparent in the May,
And danced against the sky in happy play?
The hearth grows cold, the fires to ashes turn.
Redly the trees like wind-blown cressets burn:
Sad heart, dost thou remember
How the leaves gleamed transparent in the May,
And danced against the sky in happy play?
The hearth grows cold, the fires to ashes turn.
In September
The green young world is waxen old and sere:
Sad heart, dost thou remember
The golden breath the cowslips had in May;
How the breeze waved each scented hawthorn spray?
Our year goes out, and we go with the year.
The green young world is waxen old and sere:
Sad heart, dost thou remember
The golden breath the cowslips had in May;
How the breeze waved each scented hawthorn spray?
Our year goes out, and we go with the year.
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