Autumn, like Atalanta, fleetly flees, Galey robes streaming, leaf-blown down the wind; And 'tis our pleading hearts that race behind Striving to clasp her by her golden knees, To stay her sorrowful beauty, -- but the trees Glance with her brilliant flight. Oh, grave and kind, Hide ye no russet hoards, that we may find And fling the apples of Hippomenes? Clouded about with birds, fawn-nuzzled, still Her speed outstrips us, and the woods are dead Of dream or color -- all their incense fled! Across the burning marsh she gains the hill And breathless turns her beautiful, bright head And mocks with pagan laughter, sweetly shrill. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MOTHER'S HOPE by SAMUEL LAMAN BLANCHARD THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS DEWEY AT MANILA [MAY 1, 1898] by ROBERT UNDERWOOD JOHNSON A FIT OF RHYME AGAINST RHYME [OR, RIME] by BEN JONSON THE WANDERING JEW by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON OLD WAR-DREAMS by WALT WHITMAN THE WITCHES' FROLIC by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM |