Page:Collected poems of Flecker.djvu/140



If there be any grief For those lost eremites Who live where no man roams, It is on Autumn nights At falling of the leaf, It is when pale October, Relentless tree-disrober, Conceals the smokeless homes.

Autumn is not so chill Nor leaves so light in air, Nor any wind as dim Blowing from any where, Nor fallen snow as still As the boy who loved to wander Singing till the forest yonder Shouted in response to him.

My love has come to this— And what of this to me? His eyes are eaten now, My eyes he cannot see;