Classic Poem

It was the Autumn season of the year
When ev'ry little bird doth ask his mate:
“I wonder if the Spring will find us here,
It groweth late.”

I saw two Lovers walking through the grass,
And the sad He unto his weeping Dear
Did say. “Alas!
When Spring comes round I shall no more be here,
For I must sail across the weary sea
And leave the waves a-churn 'twixt you and me.

“Oh, blessed Autumn! blest late Autumn-tide!
For ever with thy mists us Lovers hide.
Ignore Time's laws
And leave thy scarlet haws
For ever on the dewy-dripping shaws
Of this hillside.
Until the last, despite of Time and Tide,
Give leave that we may wander in thy mist,
With the last, dread
Word left for aye unsaid
And the last kiss unkisst.”

It was the Autumn season of the year,
When evry little bird doth ask his mate:
“I wonder if the Spring will find us here,
It groweth late.”