THE leaves are falling; so am I; <br />The few late flowers have moisture in the eye; <br /> So have I too. <br />Scarcely on any bough is heard <br />Joyous, or even unjoyous, bird <br /> The whole wood through. <br /> <br />Winter may come: he brings but nigher <br />His circle (yearly narrowing) to the fire <br /> Where old friends meet. <br />Let him; now heaven is overcast, <br />And spring and summer both are past, <br /> And all things sweet.<br /><br />Walter Savage Landor<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/late-leaves/
