William Butler Yeats

The Falling Of The Leaves

Autumn is over the long leaves that love us, And over the mice in the barley sheaves; Yellow the leaves of the rowan above us, And yellow the wet wild-strawberry leaves. The hour of the waning of love has beset us, And weary and worn are our sad souls now; Let us patt, ere the season of passion forget us, With a kiss and a tear on thy drooping brow.

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