Thine, autumn, is unwelcome lore,
To tell the world its pomp is o'er.
To whisper in the rose's ear
That all her beauty is no more;
And bid her own the faith how vain,
Which spring to her so lately swore.
A queen deposed, she quits her state;
The nightingales her fall deplore.
The hundred-voiced bird may woo
The thousand-leaved flower no more.
The jasmine sinks its head in shame,
The sharp east wind its tresses tore,
And robbed in passing cruelly
The tulip of the crown it wore.
The lily's sword is broken now,
That was so bright and keen before;
And not a blast can blow, but strews
With leaf of gold the earth's dank floor,
The piping winds sing Nature's dirge,
As through the forest bleak they roar,
Whose leafy screen, like locks of eld,
Each day shows scantier than before.
Thou fadest as a flower, O man!
Of food for musing here is store.
O man, thou fallest as a leaf!
Pace thoughtfully earth's leafstrewn floor;
Welcome the sadness of the time,
And lay to heart this natural lore.
~~
Richard Chenevix Trench (1807-1866)
from Poems, 1865
from Poems, 1865
[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]
"The Seasons" by Trench, read by Sonia for LibriVox. Courtesy Rhodoclassics.
("Autumn" begins at 4:15.)
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