Autumn Poem By Ada Cambridge!
So still—so still! Only the endless sighing
Of sad Æolian harp-notes overhead;
Only the soft mass-music for the dying;
Only the requiem for the newly dead!So strangely dim!—the grey mist on the heather,
The chill cloud-twilight in the wind-stripped bowers,
Where gold and scarlet sunlights lay together
On harvest fruit and summer wealth of flowers.So empty now!—only the dead leaves sifting
The dead brown berries underneath the trees;
Only my fair dead treasures idly drifting
About my footsteps in the autumn breeze.All over now! No flowers that must be tended
Are left to grow upon the open plain;
No fruits to ripen; for the harvest’s ended—
There’s no more need for either sun or rain.The infinite hope, the boundless, strong endeavour,
The love and joy I never thought to sum,
The precious things that were to last for ever—
All gather’d now, and nothing more to come!Only the shroud of snow, the white star-tapers,
The passionate storm-winds, wailing in the air;
Only the icy rain and tearful vapours,
Only the winter darkness of despair!* * * * *
So still, so sweet! with tender breezes blowing
Amongst the hills and o’er the Lowland sod,
And golden drifts of dead leaves softly strowing
The seed-graves hollow’d by the hands of God.So grey and calm! the crimson glory faded
From this low sky, pale blue and purple-barred—
This placid sea, with steel and silver shaded—
This fair earth, now with autumn furrows scarred.In the decay such chasten’d beauty blending—
Beauty late-born of peace, and hope, and rest,
As in a saintly life when near the ending,
When all its strife and labour has been blest.
The harvest-time is past. But there remaineth,
The well-stored treasure-house—the hidden seed,
That dead leaves help to nourish, which containeth,
The germ of a new life that’s life indeed.