Halloween
All hushed of glee,
The last chill bee
Clings wearily
To the dying aster.
The leaves dropp faster:
And all around, red as disaster,
The forest crimsons with tree on tree.
A butterfly,
The last to die,
Wings heavily by,
Weighed down with torpor.
The air grows sharper;
And the wind in the trees, like some sad harper,
Sits and sorrows with sigh on sigh.
The far crows call;
The acorns fall;
And over all
The Autumn raises
Dun mists and hazes,
Through which her soul, it seemeth, gazes
On ghosts and dreams in carnival.
The end is near;
The dying Year
Leans low to hear
Her own heart breaking,
And Beauty taking
Her flight, and all my dreams forsaking
My soul, bowed down 'mid the sad and sere.
Autres oeuvres par Madison Cawein...
