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. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ODES: BOOK 1: ODE 8. ON LEAVING HOLLAND by MARK AKENSIDE TO BEAUTY by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH THE CANTERBURY TALES: EPILOGUE TO THE NUN'S PRIEST'S TALE by GEOFFREY CHAUCER THE MUSIC OF THE WORLD AND OF THE SOUL by ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH OLNEY HYMNS: 43. SELF-ACQUAINTANCE by WILLIAM COWPER A BLIND CHILD by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES MR. ALACADACCA by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE |