THIS is the year's despair: some wind last night <br />Utter'd too soon the irrevocable word, <br />And the leaves heard it, and the low clouds heard; <br />So a wan morning dawn'd of sterile light; <br />Flowers droop'd, or show'd a startled face and white; <br />The cattle cower'd, and one disconsolate bird <br />Chirp'd a weak note; last came this mist and blurr'd <br />The hills, and fed upon the fields like blight. <br />Ah, why so swift despair! There yet will be <br />Warm noons, the honey'd leavings of the year, <br />Hours of rich musing, ripest autumn's core, <br />And late-heap'd fruit, and falling hedge-berry, <br />Blossoms in cottage-crofts, and yet, once more, <br />A song, not less than June's, fervent and clear.<br /><br />Edward Dowden<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-the-garden-viii-later-autumn/
