Lines
The cold pale patina of sky,The brown upon the woodland leafWith all frail lovely things that dieBlend in the autumn’s grief.For in each withered autumn flowerIs wonder where the dead may go,And we slight children of an hourMay live and never know.
The cold pale patina of sky,The brown upon the woodland leafWith all frail lovely things that dieBlend in the autumn’s grief.For in each withered autumn flowerIs wonder where the dead may go,And we slight children of an hourMay live and never know.
The cold pale patina of sky,The brown upon the woodland leafWith all frail lovely things that dieBlend in the autumn’s grief.
The cold pale patina of sky,
The brown upon the woodland leaf
With all frail lovely things that die
Blend in the autumn’s grief.
For in each withered autumn flowerIs wonder where the dead may go,And we slight children of an hourMay live and never know.
For in each withered autumn flower
Is wonder where the dead may go,
And we slight children of an hour
May live and never know.
JOHN R. CHAMBERLAIN.