Page:Preludes, Meynell, 1875.djvu/32

 IN AUTUMN.

leaves are many under my feet,

And drift one way.

Their scent of death is weary and sweet.

A flight of them is in the grey

Where sky and forest meet.

The low winds moan for dead sweet years;

The birds sing all for pain,

Of a common thing, to weary ears,—

Only a summer's fate of rain,

And a woman's fate of tears.

I walk to love and life alone

Over these mournful places,

Across the summer overthrown,

The dead joys of these silent faces,

To claim my own.