It is autumn; not without <br />But within me is the cold. <br />Youth and spring are all about; <br />It is I that have grown old. <br /> <br />Birds are darting through the air, <br />Singing, building without rest; <br />Life is stirring everywhere, <br />Save within my lonely breast. <br /> <br />There is silence: the dead leaves <br />Fall and rustle and are still; <br />Beats no flail upon the sheaves, <br />Comes no murmur from the mill.<br /><br />Henry Wadsworth Longfellow<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-the-harbour-autumn-within/
