Autumn: A Dirge.
1. The warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing, The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying, And the Year On the earth her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead, Is lying. Come, Months, come away, From November to May, In your saddest array; Follow the bier Of the dead cold Year, And like dim shadows watch by her sepulchre. 2. The chill rain is falling, the nipped worm is crawling, The rivers are swelling, the thunder is knelling For the Year; The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizards each gone To his dwelling; Come, Months, come away; Put on white, black, and gray; Let your light sisters play - Ye, follow the bier Of the dead cold Year, And make her grave green with tear on tear.
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Exploring the themes of classic, Percy Bysshe Shelley delivers a powerful performance in "Autumn: A Dirge."... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...