Poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Autumn Within

It is autumn; not without,
  But within me is the cold.
Youth and spring are all about;
  It is I that have grown old. 

Birds are darting through the air,
  Singing, building without rest;
Life is stirring everywhere,

  Save within my lonely breast. 

There is silence: the dead leaves
  Fall and rustle and are still;
Beats no flail upon the sheaves
  Comes no murmur from the mill.

1. The Belfry of Bruges
2. Midnight Mass for the Dying Year
3. Burial of the Minnisink
4. Blind Bartimeus
5. Hymn of the Moravian Nuns of Bethlehem

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