I am the autumnal sun, With autumn gales my race is run; When will the hazel put forth its flowers, Or the grape ripen under my bowers? When will the harvest or the hunter's moon, Turn my midnight into mid-noon? And to my core mellow. The winter is lurking within my moods, And the rustling of the withered leaf Is the constant music of my grief. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SENRYU: BLIND DATE by TIMOTHY LIU SONNET: IN ABSENCE FROM BECCHINA by CECCO ANGIOLIERI DA SIENA THE DEATH OF ADONIS by THEOCRITUS THE VIELD PATH by WILLIAM BARNES JANUARY FULL MOON, YPRES by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE FIRE WITHIN by ROBERT BRENDON |