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468 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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But a deeper blending, twining, With the bright ones on their way
And a fiercer fire divining In the buried heart of clay.
And as peace can ne'er be mine
Until every way is trod, With a heart sincere I go
Passion's cloud-strewn path to God.
AUTUMN
O
SEASON of the withering of the leaves, That seek their last repose on earth's cold breast, O let me hear the sorrows of thy voice Calling all things to loveliness and rest.
In thy soft clouds grown gray with misery,
Thy desolate branches flaunting the gaunt skies,
Surely there dwells a sweetness of despair
For lonely hearts and weary tear-stained eyes.
For dumbly dressed, in sober light arrayed,
Breathing a hidden mystery and fear, The pomp and pageants of eternity
Loom through the withering ritual of the year.
THE DEVOTEE
T
HE autumn wind sighs through the trees, Disturbing all my garnered ease, The brown leaves stir a fluttering thought With half-repented memories fraught. |
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