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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=339740" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Autumn</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">So still—so still! Only the endless sighing<br>Of sad Æolian harp-notes overhead;<br>Only the soft mass-music for the dying;<br>Only the requiem for the newly dead!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So strangely dim!—the grey mist on the heather,<br>The chill cloud-twilight in the wind-stripped bowers,<br>Where gold and scarlet sunlights lay together<br>On harvest fruit and summer wealth of flowers.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So empty now!—only the dead leaves sifting<br>The dead brown berries underneath the trees;<br>Only my fair dead treasures idly drifting<br>About my footsteps in the autumn breeze.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">All over now! No flowers that must be tended<br>Are left to grow upon the open plain;<br>No fruits to ripen; for the harvest's ended—<br>There's no more need for either sun or rain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The infinite hope, the boundless, strong endeavour,<br>The love and joy I never thought to sum,<br>The precious things that were to last for ever—<br>All gather'd now, and nothing more to come!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Only the shroud of snow, the white star-tapers,<br>The passionate storm-winds, wailing in the air;<br>Only the icy rain and tearful vapours,<br>Only the winter darkness of despair!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">* * * * *<br>So still, so sweet! with tender breezes blowing<br>Amongst the hills and o'er the Lowland sod,<br>And golden drifts of dead leaves softly strowing<br>The seed-graves hollow'd by the hands of God.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So grey and calm! the crimson glory faded<br>From this low sky, pale blue and purple-barred—<br>This placid sea, with steel and silver shaded—<br>This fair earth, now with autumn furrows scarred.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In the decay such chasten'd beauty blending—<br>Beauty late-born of peace, and hope, and rest,<br>As in a saintly life when near the ending,<br>When all its strife and labour has been blest.<br>The harvest-time is past. But there remaineth<br>The well-stored treasure-house—the hidden seed<br>That dead leaves help to nourish, which containeth<br>The germ of a new life that's life indeed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Ada+Cambridge">Ada Cambridge</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=339740" data-title="Autumn de Ada Cambridge" data-description="So still—so still! Only the endless sighing
Of sad Æolian harp-notes overhead;
Only the soft mass-music for the dying;
Only the requiem for the newly dead!

So strangely dim!—the grey mist on the heather,
The chill cloud-twilight in the wind-..."></div>
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