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Walter Savage Landor

Late Leaves

THE leaves are falling; so am I;
The few late flowers have moisture in the eye;
        So have I too.
Scarcely on any bough is heard
Joyous, or even unjoyous, bird
        The whole wood through.

Winter may come: he brings but nigher
His circle (yearly narrowing) to the fire
        Where old friends meet.
Let him; now heaven is overcast,
And spring and summer both are past,
        And all things sweet.

 
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About the poet
Walter Savage Landor
 
By the same poet
The Maid's Lament
Rose Aylmer
Ianthe
Twenty Years hence
Verse
Proud Word you never spoke
Resignation
Mother, I cannot mind my Wheel
Autumn
Remain!
Absence
Of Clementina
Ianthe's Question
On Catullus
Dirce
Alciphron and Leucippe
Years
Separation
Finis
 
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