An Autumn Anniversary
O beauty, Beauty, thou wilt drive me mad!
Where shall I turn, or whither shall I flee?
Thou dost oppress the very soul of me
With longings for the dear delights I had.
In all the red and orange pomp I see,
In all the glory of the gold and green,
Naught but what is not, and what once hath been,
And all the pain that is and should not be.
Alas! Alas! By all our powers of bliss;
By all the fleeting splendor of the day;
By the last rosy cloud that fades away,
There is no sadder loveliness than this.
O mist upon the valley, rise and rise,
And draw the moon within thy silver fold;
The day of my despair is dead and cold;
And all the stars are shining in the skies.
|