Here in this
The summer still lingers,
And Autumn's brown fingers So busy the while With the leaves in the north; Are scarcely put
In this land where the sun still glows like an ember,. In mid-November. In England it's cold,
And the yellow and
Of October have fled ; And the sun is wet gold Like an emperor weeping, When Death goes
All through his empire, merciless comer The dead things of summer. The sky has cried
That the earth is all sodden,
With dead leaves in-trodden, And the trees to and fro Wave their arms in the air In despair, in despair :
They are thinking of all the hot days that are over, And the cows in the clover. Here the roses are out,
And the sun at high
Makes the birds faint and swoon. But the cricket's about With his song, and the hum Of the bees as they
To feast at the honey-board laden and groaning, Makes musical droning. But vainly, alas !
Do I hide in the south,
Kiss close with my mouth Red flowers, green grass, For Autumn has found me And thrown her arms around me.
She has breathed on my lips and I wander apart, Dead leaves in my heart.
