Classic Poem

ON A UTUMN

O sad heart, come, distraction's hour is now high,
The air's cool, 'midst the fields to sit the time nigh.
The Sun hath to the Balance, Joseph-like past,
The year's Zuleykha hath her gold hoard wide cast.
By winds bronzed, like the sun, the quince's face glows;
Its Pleiads-clusters, hanging forth, the vine shows.
In saffron flow'rets have the meads themselves dight;
The trees, all scorched, to gold have turned, and shine bright.
The gilded leaves in showers falling to earth gleam;
With gold-fish filled doth glisten brightly each stream.
Ablaze each tree, and blent are all in one glare,
And therefore charged with glistening fire the still air.
Amidst the yellow foliage perched the black crows —
As tulip, saffron-hued, that spotted cup shows.
A yellow-plumaged bird, now every tree stands,
Which shakes itself, and feathers sheds on all hands.
Each vine-leaf paints its face, bride-like, with gold ink;
The brook doth silver anklets round the vine link.
The plane-tree hath its hands, with hinna, red dyed,
And stands there of the parterre's court the fair bride.
The erst green tree now like the starry sky shows,
And hurling meteors at the fiend, Earth, stones throws.