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| Poems, Arthur Romney Green, Astolat Press, Guildford, 1901 |
The sad, the wild, the Autumn Wind,
All
vanished sweet things
From the dark heaven I call to mind;
The
deathly odour clings
Of summers that are left behind
On
my tempestuous wings.
Awhile from leafy bough to bough
I led
the summer on;
And many a lover’s whispered vow
Bore to
the joyful sun;
But all the sweets of summer now
The
sweets of love are gone.
And now, to speak their general grief
In one
severer strain,
From places of the withered leaf
I mourn
the life, how vain,
The loves, the joys of men, how brief,
Through
all the night complain;
Their spring, how desperately sweet
With
promise – only given
The summer of a short conceit-
Their
leaf-like souls, how driven,
When earth is dead beneath their feet,
On all
the winds of heaven!
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| from Arbor Vitae, Godfrey Blount, Fifield, 1910, 3rd edition |
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