"I've made many mistakes, dear Gods of old.
For this sunset is neither pretty nor plain
This sunset is Shiva; who's blaze grown bold
Threatens the sky with ash and dust, dark disdain."
"Alas Shiva is not my dearest Autumn,
Nor is this sunset my evening solemn."
Ode To One Who Is Injured
Some scholars say, that the city of no compare
Is greatest in April. In the time fools find fairest,
I found it in your blondest life, an April Paris
In Autumn Fall, at the least of all, a differed share
Should they find one blonder than the sun
At your grandest, higher than your plateau'd peak
Aye, should one only wish, for more than to seek
For the roads are many, the destination is one
In Autumn least of all
Stranger things have occurred
Within the Mountain Flowers
Granted, their May is long gone,
And the long Autumn'd hours
Are nigh upon their evening dawn
Mystery abounds in the Summer's fall
With good reason, tall tales have endured
A time of Death, a destructive breeze
That loosens the leaves and stiffens the trees
For someone who admires the sunset
The breeze whispers a sweeter tale
For this one, Autumn is well- met
Begetting a heart-warming, Winter Pale
Love And Sorrow
You are quite the magnificent illness
Swollen with love and sorrow in my heart
Smiling at the day's stark, steady, stillness
Beautifully torn apart at your start
Outside the moments in my dreams
Have I seen your aureate eyes
Blesst to stare deep into their seems
Whispering back your silent replies
How much glass was used to make your hair?
Raven black and vivid to their roots
Quite the lovely little siren's snare
For those who choose to go those routes
But Beauty is no tome read worthwhile
Until I feel treasured in your smile
All In Green My Love Went Riding
All in green my love went riding, four lean hounds
crouched low and smiling; riding upon a great gold
horse into the silver dawn. She ventured far ahead, an amazon
princess, flanking four lean hounds; my love struck the path.
She wished to rid herself of me. All in green
my love kept riding, without me; into the silver dawn.
Till I heard the whine of a horse and the bark of the hounds.
I abandoned all caution, raced atop the high peaks
into the silver sawn, to find the Golden Horse
with no rider. Four lean hounds, crouched low and silent
Where a motionless figure lay on the path;
All in green, my heart fell dead before.
Autumn My Dear
Autumn my dear!
Thy winds are cool and sharp
And are mine to embrace
Even as I draw you near
I sniff the traditional odour
Of dead leaves and lavender...
Oh, how they have haunted me
Since late December;
That I wished it early October
Autumn my dear!
Orange by they favourite colour
To alleviate the people's fear
Of dying Summer,
That you have replaced
To my heart sprung joy
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