I hear a voice low in the sunset woods; <br />Listen, it says: 'Decay, decay, decay.' <br />I hear it in the murmuring of the floods, <br />And the wind sighs it as it flies away. <br />Autumn is come; seest thou not in the skies <br />The stormy light of his fierce, lurid eyes? <br />Autumn is come; his brazen feet have trod, <br />Withering and scorching, o'er the mossy sod. <br />The fainting year sees her fresh flowery wreath <br />Shrivel in his hot grasp; his burning breath, <br />Dries the sweet water-springs that in the shade <br />Wandering along, delicious music made. <br />A flood of glory hangs upon the world, <br />Summer's bright wings shining ere they are furled.<br /><br />Frances Anne Kemble<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-hear-a-voice-low-in-the-sunset-woods/
