Читать книгу A Treasury of Canadian Verse, with Brief Biographical Notes - Группа авторов - Страница 12

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THE dark has passed, and the chill Autumn morn

Unrolls her faded glories in the fields;

Dead are the gilded air-hosts newly-born,

The hardiest flowers droop their sodden shields,

For lovely Summer hath cut short her stay—

The fickle goddess, loaded with delight,

Grown wantonly unconstant, fled away

Under a hoar-frost mantle yesternight.

In one brief hour, the warm and flashing skies

Pale in the marble dawn; we cannot choose,

But marvel that hearts turn to stone, and eyes

Brimful of passion all their lustre lose.

Drear is the morning; love is gone for aye,

Love done to death in one bright peerless day.