A bowlegged peasant and his ox receding Through the mist slowly through the mist of autumn Which hides the shabby and sordid villages And out there as he goes the peasant is singing A song of love and infidelity About a ring and a heart which someone is breaking Oh the autumn the autumn has been the death of summer In the mist there are two gray shapes receding | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...UPON THE DEATH OF THE LORD HASTINGS by JOHN DRYDEN AT THE SHRINE by RICHARD KENDALL MUNKITTRICK ODE (MUSIC-MAKERS) by ARTHUR WILLIAM EDGAR O'SHAUGHNESSY THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 71. THE CHOICE (1) by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI |