Walter Savage Landor: Autumn
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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.


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DayPoems Poem No. 517



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