Autumn

Poems by Lord Alfred Douglas

Autumn Days

I have been through the woods to-day
And the leaves were falling,
Summer had crept away,
And the birds were not calling.

And the bracken was like yellow gold
That comes too late,
When the heart is sad and old,
And death at the gate.

Ah, mournful Autumn! Sad,
Slow death that comes at last,
And he fires the sere leaves as they lie
On their bed of earth, too late.

They are dead, and the bare trees weep
Not loud as a mortal weeping,
But as sorrow that sighs in sleep,
And as grief that is still in sleeping.

The Hut, 1890

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