The melancholy year is dead with rain. <br />Drop after drop on every branch pursues. <br />From far away beyond the drizzled flues <br />A twilight saddens to the window pane. <br />And dimly thro' the chambers of the brain, <br />From place to place and gently touching, moves <br />My one and irrecoverable love's <br />Dear and lost shape one other time again. <br />So in the last of autumn for a day <br />Summer or summer's memory returns. <br />So in a mountain desolation burns <br />Some rich belated flower, and with the gray <br />Sick weather, in the world of rotting ferns <br />From out the dreadful stones it dies away.<br /><br />Trumbull Stickney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-melancholy-year-is-dead-with-rain/
