Explore "Autumn Love" by Helen Hay Whitney on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I. Once I could love this season of the year, And watch the calm and delicate decline Of Summer gladly; I could see the pine Deep green on bluest sky, and laugh for cheer Of very living. Yet I'd fain appear Th' unhurried gourmet, tasting of my wine, Lingering o'er memories of the purpled vine, Loath for each passing moment. Ah, my dear, Now like a careless child, I toss the hours Over my shoulder, I forget the sun, The dewy dawn, the white moon and the flowers. Like a tired pilgrim with his goal in view, Looking not right nor left, I run, I run To that bright day of days that brings me you.
II. I feel as murderers feel, who, having slain Their love, laugh with red hands and do not care. I took sweet Summer by her lovely hair, Bent her white throat, and gladly saw the stain Crimson her green leaf-gown of hill and plain. I would not wait for her last kiss, nor spare One splendid flying hour, for chill and fair Autumn, my love, comes near me thro' the rain.
Pale with mysterious wonder, her deep eyes Are wells of wisdom; fugitive, astray From a blue land that dreams beyond the skies. 'Tis done. I lay young Summer on her pyre, And turning, burn thro' distance to the day That brings me to the lips of my desire.