Classic Poem

Summer has gone, and, like a new-made wife,
The shade of household cares upon her brow,
Autumn has come, clad in a russet cloak,
With winds that wither all the summer flowers,
With ripening grain and fruits and falling leaves.

The sun has lost half of his summer heat;
The morns and eves are windy, drear, and cold,
The round full moon looks blushingly on earth;
And blasts come howling from the barren moors
That scatter o'er the land the fallen leaves.

And when the Autumn will lie down and die
Upon the lap of Winter, his last look
Will fall on trees that lift their naked arms
To the dark skies, and his dark breath will move
Along the lanes, and fan the fallen leaves.

Life has its autumn, cold and bleak, when hopes
Long nourished by the sunshine of romance
Wither and fall, too burdensome to bear;
Then feel we life's long winter drawing nigh,
And read man's history in the fallen leaves.