“Autumn Dreams”

 

 

“I know the year is dying, soon the summer will be dead.

I can trace it in the flying of the black crows overhead;

I can hear it in the rustle of the dead leaves as I pass,

And the south wind’s plaintive sighing; through the dry and withered grass.

Ah, ‘tis then I love to wander,

Wander idly and alone.

Listening to the solemn music of sweet nature’s undertone

Wrapped in thoughts I cannot utter,

Dreams my tongue cannot express.

Dreams that match the Autumn’s sadness in their longing tenderness.”

-Mortimer Crane Brown