It is autumn; not without <br /> But within me is the cold. <br />Youth and spring are all about; <br /> It is I that have grown old. <br /> <br />Birds are darting through the air, <br /> Singing, building without rest; <br />Life is stirring everywhere, <br /> Save within my lonely breast. <br /> <br />There is silence: the dead leaves <br /> Fall and rustle and are still; <br />Beats no flail upon the sheaves, <br /> Comes no murmur from the mill.<br /><br />Henry Wadsworth Longfellow<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/autumn-within/
