No breath of wind stirs in the painted leaves,
The meadows are as stirless as the sky,
Like a Saint's halo golden vapours lie
Above the restful valley's garnered sheaves.
The journeying Sun, like one who fondly grieves,
Above the hills seems loitering with a sigh,
As loth to bid the fruitful earth good-bye,
On these hushed hours of luminous autumn eves.
There is a pathos in his softening glow,
Which like a benediction seems to hover
O'er the tranced earth, ere he must sink below
And leave her widowed of her radiant Lover,
A frost-bound sleeper in a shroud of snow,
While winter winds howl a wild dirge above her.
The Passing Year
Mathilde Blind
(1)
Poem topics: autumn, breath, howl, sky, snow, sun, wind, winter, wild, good, frost, valley, golden, bound, saint, earth, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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