Hills and fences hurry by
Blent in greenish-rosy flight,
And the yellow carriage-light
Blurs all to the half-shut eye.
Slowly turns the gold to red
O'er the humble darkening vales;
Little trees that flatly spread,
Where some feeble birdling wails.
Scarcely sad, so mild and fair
This enfolding Autumn seems;
All my moody languor dreams,
Cradled by the gentle air.
Bruxelles [english]
Paul Verlaine
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Poem topics: autumn, light, red, sad, gentle, flight, humble, gold, yellow, spread, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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