I hear a voice low in the sunset woods: Listen; it says "Decay, decay, decay:" I hear it in the murmuring of the floods, And the wind sighs it as it flies away. Autumn is come; seest thou not in the skies The stormy light of his fierce lurid eyes? Autumn is come; his brazen feet have trod, Withering and scorching, o'er the mossy sod. The fainting year sees her fresh flowery wreath Shrivel in his hot grasp; his burning breath Dries the sweet water-springs that in the shade Wandering along, delicious music made. A flood of glory hangs upon the world, Summer's bright wings shining ere they are furl'd. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ALEXANDER'S FEAST; OR, THE POWER OF MUSIC by JOHN DRYDEN BROTHERS by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON VERSES ON SEEING THE SPEAKER ASLEEP IN HIS CHAIR by WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED THE LEPER by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE THE COTTON BOLL by HENRY TIMROD SKYFARER by ANNA EMILIA BAGSTAD THE GHOSTS' MOONSHINE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 36 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |