Know’st
thou not at the fall of the leaf
How the
heart feels a languid grief
Laid on it
for a covering,
And how
sleep seems a goodly thing
In Autumn
at the fall of the leaf?
And how
the swift beat of the brain
Falters
because it is in vain,
In Autumn
at the fall of the leaf
Knowest
thou not? and how the chief
Of joys seems—not
to suffer pain?
Know’st
thou not at the fall of the leaf
How the
soul feels like a dried sheaf
Bound up
at length for harvesting,
And how
death seems a comely thing
In Autumn
at the fall of the leaf?
Dante Gabriel Rossetti
(1883)
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