Autumn
1775-1864
MILD is the parting year, and sweet
The odour of the falling spray;
Life passes on more rudely fleet,
And balmless is its closing day.
I wait its close, I court its gloom,
But mourn that never must there fall
Or on my breast or on my tomb
The tear that would have soothed it all.
DayPoems Poem No. 517
<a href="http://www.daypoems.net/poems/517.html">Autumn by Walter Savage Landor</a>
The DayPoems Poetry Collection, www.daypoems.net
Timothy Bovee, editor
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