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. Autumnal Nightfall
2. Birds of Passage
3. A Ballad of the French Fleet
4. Einar Tamberskelver
5. Milton

Print

1753 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version