All in the beautiful Autumn weather <br /> One thought lingers with me and stays; <br />Death and winter are coming together, <br /> Though both are veiled by the amber haze <br />I look on the forest of royal splendour! <br /> I look on the face in my quiet room; <br />A face all beautiful, sad and tender, <br /> And both are stamped with the seal of doom. <br /> <br />All through the days of Indian summer, <br /> Minute by minute and hour by hour, <br />I feel the approach of a dreaded Comer – <br /> A ghastly presence of awful power. <br />I hear the birds in the early morning, <br /> As they fly from the fields that are turning brown, <br />And at noon and at night my heart takes warning, <br /> For the maple leaves fall down and down. <br /> <br />The sumac bushes are all a-flaming! <br /> The world is scarlet, and gold, and green, <br />And my darling’s beautiful cheeks are shaming <br /> The painted bloom of the ball-room queen. <br />Why talk of winter, amid such glory? <br /> Why speak of death of a thing so fair? <br />Oh, but the forest king white and hoary <br /> Is weaving a mantle for both to wear. <br /> <br />God! If I could by the soft deceiving <br /> Of forests of splendour and cheeks of bloom <br />Lull my heart into sweet believing <br /> Just for a moment and drown my gloom; <br />If I could forget for a second only <br /> And rest from the pain of this awful dread <br />Of the days that are coming long and lonely <br /> When the Autumn goes and she is dead. <br /> <br />But all the while the sun gilds wood and meadow <br /> And the fair cheeks, hectic glows and cheats, <br />I know grim death sits veiled in shadow <br /> Weaving for both their winding sheets. <br />I cannot help, and I cannot save her. <br /> My hands are as weak as a babe’s new-born; <br />I must yield her up to One who gave her <br /> And wait for the resurrection morn.<br /><br />Ella Wheeler Wilcox<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fading-2/
