Before the breath of winter''s chill, Beyond bereft of summer''s sun. A joy of hope hangs high on hill For season''s gather now begun. A golden leaf has spent and fell, To glint the flush of morning''s dawn. This lovely listless petal''s spell Befell a hope, once held as gone.
In heaving bliss I rise to kiss The languished lips that tremble true. When summer''s torrent slips amiss, Days dawn in torrid thoughts of you. As Golden Autumn lifts anew, We mingle mists of morning dew.