Classic Poem

When I behold the red leaf fade and fall
And the lush grasses to dull umber turn,
When the green fronds have withered on the fern,
And bare vines lie along the orchard wall,
I am like one who from a festival,
Where bright lights toss and fragrant spices burn,
And rich wines sparkle in the brimming urn,
Retreats into the night and hears the call.

Of something imminent on earth, in air,
Some portent, omen, sign or prophecy
Of things calamitous that are to be;
One who goes forward shaken and aware,
While darkness spreads its vast veil everywhere,
In nature's death of our mortality.