Explore "Autumn Regrets" by Paul Bewsher on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
That I were Keats! And with a golden pen / Could for all time preserve these golden days / In rich and glowing verse, for poorer men, / Who felt their wonder, but could only gaze / With silent joy upon sweet Autumn's face, / And not record in any wise its grace! / Alas! But I am even dumb as they -- / I cannot bid the fleeting hours stay, / Nor chain one moment on a page's space.
That I were Grieg! Then, with a haunting air / Of murmurs soft, and swelling, grand refrains / Would I express my love of Autumn fair / With all its wealth of harvest, and warm rains: / And with fantastic melodies inspire / A memory of each mad sunset's fire / In which the day goes slowly to its death / As through the fragrant woods dim Evening's breath / Doth soothe to sleep the drowsy songbirds' choir.