Before the End How does the Autumn in her mind conclude The tragic masque her frosty pencil writes, Broad on the pages of the days and nights, In burning lines of orchard, wold, and wood? What lonelier forms, that at the year's door stood At spectral wait, with wildly wasted lights Shall enter? and with melancholy rites Inaugurate their sadder sisterhood? Sorrow, who lifts a signal hand, and slow The green leaf fevers, falling ere it dies; Regret, whose pale lips summon, and gaunt Woe Wakes the wild-wind harps with sonorous sighs; And Sleep, who sits with poppied eyes and sees The earth and sky grow dream-accessories. |
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