Know'st thou not at the fall of the leaf
How the heart feels a languid grief
. . .Laid on it for a covering,
. . .And how sleep seems a goodly thing
In autumn at the fall of the leaf.
And how the swift beat of the brain
Falters because it is in vain,
. . .In autunin at the fall of the leaf
. . .Knowest thou not? And how the chief
Of joys seems—not to suffer pain?
Knowst thou not at the fall of the leaf
How the soul feels like a dried sheaf
. . .Bound up at length for harvesting,
. . .And how death seems a comely thing
In autumn at the fall of the leaf?
Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Poetical Works, ed. William M. Rossetti (New York: Thomas Y. Crowell, 1886).
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