The poem below by Walter Savage Landor is fragile and so full of feeling. I think it echoes so perfectly the turn of the seasons. One can almost see the poet falling, like leaves.
Late Leaves by Walter Savage Landor
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 past,
And all things sweet.
From the Oxford Book of English Verse
Images: First two at the balcony: Friday morning's break-fast. Myself wearing antique Japanese silk dressing gown.
The Oxford Book of English Verse printed in 1905 by Clarendon press, Oxford, England( present from a dear friend), Trees aglow in the garden. Hope you've all had a nice week. What are your weekend plans?;-)
