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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=416590" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Dead Leaves</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">DAWN</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As though a gipsy maiden with dim look,<br>Sat crooning by the roadside of the year,<br>So, Autumn, in thy strangeness, thou art here<br>To read dark fortunes for us from the book<br>Of fate; thou flingest in the crinkled brook<br>The trembling maple's gold, and frosty-clear<br>Thy mocking laughter thrills the atmosphere,<br>And drifting on its current calls the rook<br>To other lands. As one who wades, alone,<br>Deep in the dusk, and hears the minor talk<br>Of distant melody, and finds the tone,<br>In some wierd way compelling him to stalk<br>The paths of childhood over,--so I moan,<br>And like a troubled sleeper, groping, walk.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">DUSK</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The frightened herds of clouds across the sky<br>Trample the sunshine down, and chase the day<br>Into the dusky forest-lands of gray<br>And somber twilight. Far, and faint, and high<br>The wild goose trails his harrow, with a cry<br>Sad as the wail of some poor castaway<br>Who sees a vessel drifting far astray<br>Of his last hope, and lays him down to die.<br>The children, riotous from school, grow bold<br>And quarrel with the wind, whose angry gust<br>Plucks off the summer hat, and flaps the fold<br>Of many a crimson cloak, and twirls the dust<br>In spiral shapes grotesque, and dims the gold<br>Of gleaming tresses with the blur of rust.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">NIGHT</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Funereal Darkness, drear and desolate,<br>Muffles the world. The moaning of the wind<br>Is piteous with sobs of saddest kind;<br>And laughter is a phantom at the gate<br>Of memory. The long-neglected grate<br>Within sprouts into flame and lights the mind<br>With hopes and wishes long ago refined<br>To ashes,--long departed friends await<br>Our words of welcome: and our lips are dumb<br>And powerless to greet the ones that press<br>Old kisses there. The baby beats its drum,<br>And fancy marches to the dear caress<br>Of mother-arms, and all the gleeful hum<br>Of home intrudes upon our loneliness.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=James+Whitcomb+Riley">James Whitcomb Riley</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=416590" data-title="Dead Leaves de James Whitcomb Riley" data-description="DAWN

As though a gipsy maiden with dim look,
Sat crooning by the roadside of the year,
So, Autumn, in thy strangeness, thou art here
To read dark fortunes for us from the book
Of fate; thou flingest in the crinkled brook
The trembling maple's gol..."></div>
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