Come, let us go into the lane, love mine, <br />And mark and gather what the Autumn grows: <br />The creamy elder mellowed into wine, <br />The russet hip that was the pink-white rose; <br />The amber woodbine into rubies turned, <br />The blackberry that was the bramble born; <br />Nor let the seeded clematis be spurned, <br />Nor pearls, that now are corals, of the thorn. <br />Look! what a lovely posy we have made <br />From the wild garden of the waning year. <br />So when, dear love, your summer is decayed, <br />Beauty more touching than is clustered here <br />Will linger in your life, and I shall cling <br />Closely as now, nor ask if it be Spring.<br /><br />Alfred Austin<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/an-answer-13/
