Présentation de l'éditeur
The autumn leaves are whirled away, The sober skies look down On faded fields and woodlands gray, And the dun-colored town. Through the brown orchards gusty aisle, In sad-hued gown and hood. Slow passes, with a peaceful smile, A maiden pure and good. Her deep, serene, and dove-like eyes A re downward bent, her face. Whereon the days pale shadow lies, Is sweet with nameless grace. The frolic wind beside her blows, The sear leaves dance and leap; With hands before her clasped, she goes As in a waking sleep. To her the ashen skies are bright, The russet earth is fair; And never shone a clearer light. Nor breathed a softer air. Owizard love! whose magic art Transmutes to sun the shade. Thine are the beams that fill the heart Of this meek Quaker
(Typographical errors above are due to OCR software and don't occur in the book.)
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