These autumn gardens, russet, gray and brown, <br />The sward with shrivelled foliage strown, <br />The shrubs and trees <br />By weary wings of sunshine overflown <br />And timid silences,-- <br /> <br />Since first you, darling, called my spirit yours, <br />Seem happy, and the gladness pours <br />From day to day, <br />And yester-year across this year endures <br />Unto next year away. <br /> <br />Now in these places where I used to rove <br />And give the dropping leaves my love <br />And weep to them, <br />They seem to fall divinely from above, <br />Like to a diadem <br /> <br />Closing in one with the disheartened flowers. <br />High up the migrant birds in showers <br />Shine in the sky, <br />And all the movement of the natural hours <br />Turns into melody.<br /><br />Trumbull Stickney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/loneliness-11/
