Percy Bysshe Shelley

Horsham / England
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Horsham / England
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Autumn: A Dirge

Rating: 2.8

The warm sun is falling, the bleak wind is wailing,
The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying,
And the Year
On the earth is her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead,
Is lying.
Come, Months, come away,
From November to May,
In your saddest array;
Follow the bier
Of the dead cold Year,
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COMMENTS
Indira Renganathan 09 November 2016
speechless....very apt poem for last year's chennai flood though this was written long ago...highly descriptive.. Salute you sir- -10+++++
0 1 Reply
Matthew Montelione 16 March 2005
This is a beautiful poem. There isn't one poem by Shelley that isn't oozing with beauty and imagination. I love this.
2 0 Reply

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