All hushed of glee, <br />The last chill bee <br />Clings wearily <br />To the dying aster. <br /> <br />The leaves dropp faster: <br />And all around, red as disaster, <br />The forest crimsons with tree on tree. <br /> <br />A butterfly, <br />The last to die, <br />Wings heavily by, <br />Weighed down with torpor. <br /> <br />The air grows sharper; <br />And the wind in the trees, like some sad harper, <br />Sits and sorrows with sigh on sigh. <br /> <br />The far crows call; <br />The acorns fall; <br />And over all <br />The Autumn raises <br />Dun mists and hazes, <br />Through which her soul, it seemeth, gazes <br />On ghosts and dreams in carnival. <br /> <br />The end is near; <br />The dying Year <br />Leans low to hear <br />Her own heart breaking, <br />And Beauty taking <br />Her flight, and all my dreams forsaking <br />My soul, bowed down 'mid the sad and sere.<br /><br />Madison Julius Cawein<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/halloween-52/
