Sometimes a mortal feels in himself Nature <br />-- not his Father but his Mother stirs <br />within him, and he becomes immortal with her <br />immortality. From time to time she claims <br />kindredship with us, and some globule <br />from her veins steals up into our own. <br /> <br />I am the autumnal sun, <br />With autumn gales my race is run; <br />When will the hazel put forth its flowers, <br />Or the grape ripen under my bowers? <br />When will the harvest or the hunter's moon <br />Turn my midnight into mid-noon? <br />I am all sere and yellow, <br />And to my core mellow. <br />The mast is dropping within my woods, <br />The winter is lurking within my moods, <br />And the rustling of the withered leaf <br />Is the constant music of my grief...<br /><br />Henry David Thoreau<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-am-the-autumnal-sun/
