IN the autumn, in the weather Golden, bronzed, and rich with sighs, When we paced the lanes together, Dreamings deep were in your eyes. Then, O Love, 'twas like the sounding Of a mellow horn that blows Veiled but vibrant, far-resounding Through the paths the woodland knows. But with May the magic changes, And the music pants and pleads: Like a violin it ranges All the soul's insistent needs. All the hopes and pent desires, All the daring and the doubt; Like to strong plucked strings, the fires Of our spirits rushing out. In the autumn, love seemed sober; Dear, 'tis now a passioned thing; As the horn is for October, But the violin for spring. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPITAPH FOR SIR PHILIP SIDNEY, AT ST. PAUL'S WITHOUT A MONUMENT ... by EDWARD HERBERT AMORETTI: 37 by EDMUND SPENSER THE VIOLINIST by MARGARET STEELE ANDERSON OUR MODEST DOUGHBOYS by CHARLTON ANDREWS CHILDHOOD by JENS IMMANUEL BAGGESEN WHEN TIME WAS YOUNG by SARITA HOLT BROWNLEE THE WANDERER: 2. IN FRANCE: THE NOVEL by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |