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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=448923" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Ode To Autumn</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thou sombre lady of down-bended head,<br>And weary lashes drooping to the cheek,<br>With sweet sad fold of lips uncomforted,<br>And listless hands more tired with strife than meek ;<br>Turn here thy soft brown feet, and to my heart,<br>Unmatched to Summer's golden minstrelsy,<br>Or Spring's shrill pipe of joy, sing once again<br>Sad songs, and I to thee<br>Well tuned, will answer that according part<br>That jarred with those young seasons' gladder strain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Give me thy empty branches for the biers<br>Of perished joys, thy winds to sigh my sighs,<br>Thy falling leaves to count my falling tears,<br>And all thy mists to dim my aching eyes.<br>There is no comfort in thy lips, and none<br>In thy cold arms, nor pity in thy breast,<br>But better 'tis in gray hours to have grief,<br>Than to affront the sun<br>With sunless woe, when every flower and leaf<br>Conspires to make the season merriest.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The drip of rain-drops on the sodden earth,<br>The trampled mud-stained grass, the shifting leaves,<br>The silent hurrying birds, the sickly birth<br>Of the red sun in misty skies, the sheaves<br>Of rotting ruined corn, the sudden gusts<br>Of angry winds, the clouds that fly all night<br>Before the stormy moon, thy desolate moans,<br>All thy decays and rusts,<br>Thy deaths and dirges, these are tuned aright<br>To my unquiet soul that sorrow owns.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But ah ! thy gentler mood, the honeyed kiss<br>Of thy faint watery sunshine, thy pale gold,<br>Thy dark red berries, and the ambergris<br>That paints the lingering leaves, while on the mould,<br>Their dead make bronze and sepia carpetings<br>That lightly rustle in thy quiet breath.<br>These are the shadows of departed smiles,<br>The ghosts of happy things ;<br>These break again the broken heart, the whiles<br>Thou goest onto winter, I to Death.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Lord+Alfred+Douglas">Lord Alfred Douglas</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=448923" data-title="Ode To Autumn de Lord Alfred Douglas" data-description="Thou sombre lady of down-bended head,
And weary lashes drooping to the cheek,
With sweet sad fold of lips uncomforted,
And listless hands more tired with strife than meek ;
Turn here thy soft brown feet, and to my heart,
Unmatched to Summer's gold..."></div>
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