Tuesday, October 6, 2009

Autumn Pale

When the world in solemn stillness lies,
And the moon in silence, frowns
And the sad, dark wind
On the lonesome bend
Lips the river's frothy gown
When the brow of the hill is as brass as the bell
That hangs in the cornered dale:
We will lift our heads, and breathe a prayer
A prayer of the autumn pale.

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