COME, on thy swaying feet, Wild Spirit of the Fall! With wind-blown skirts, loose hair of russet-brown. Crowned with bright berries of the bittersweet. Trip a light measure with the hurrying leaf, Straining thy few late roses to thy breast, With laughter over-gay, sweet eyes drooped down, That none may guess thy grief. Dare not to pause for rest Lest the slow tears should gather to their fall. But when the cold moon rises o'er the hill, The last numb crickets cease, and all is still, Face down thou liest on the frosty ground Strewed with thy fortune's wreck, alas, thine all -- There, on a winter dawn, thy corse I found, Lone Spirit of the Fall. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHEN MY SHIP COMES IN by ROBERT JONES BURDETTE EVENING by GEORGE WASHINGTON DOANE LULLABY OF A LOVER by GEORGE GASCOIGNE THE BONNIE BLUE FLAG by ANNIE CHAMBERS KETCHUM THE TWELVE-FORTY-FIVE (FOR EDWARD J. WHEELER) by ALFRED JOYCE KILMER TO THE UNKNOWN EROS: BOOK 1: 10. THE TOYS by COVENTRY KERSEY DIGHTON PATMORE KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY |