Walk lightly o’er the mead.

Spring and I are holding hands

On a green hill’s dazzling crest.

Make this day, God, go very slow

More slowly than the rest.

{39}

Autumn

I SEE you now, your autumn gown

I

In wanton fashion hung,

Your crimson scarf half rakishly,

To trifling breezes flung.

I was distressed and sad to think

You did not even care.

But once your harp sang low and sweet

You breathed a solemn prayer.

You sang soft broken numbers

Sad as your soul’s distress,

And I loved you no matter how wanton

Or scarlet or scanty your dress.

 Prev. P 31/70 next