Meditações - Outono triste

In quiet days for a time
Sad Autumn lingering warm
Shall humour their faded prime.

But ah ! the leaves of summer that lie on the ground !
What havoc ! The laughing timbrels of June,
That curtained the birds cradles, and screened their song,
That sheltered the cooing doves at noon,
Of airy fans the delicate throng, —
Tom and scattered around:
Far out afield they lie,
In the watery furrows die,

In grassy pools of the flood they sink and drown,
Green-golden, orange, vermilion, golden and brown.
The high year's flaunting crown
Shattered and trampled down.

The day is done: the tired land looks for night:
She prays to the night to keep
In peace her nerves of delight:
While silver mist upstealeth silently.

And the broad cloud-driving moon in the clear sky
Lifts o'er the firs her shining shield,
And in her tranquil light
Sleep falls on forest and field.

I sleep hath fallen: the trees are asleep:
The night is come. The land is wrapt in sleep.

Ye thrilled me once, ye mournful strains,
Ye anthems of plaintive woe,
My spirit was sad when I was young ;
Ah sorrowful long-ago!

Robert Bridges