Bruxelles Poem by Paul Verlaine
Bruxelles
Hills and fences hurry by
Blent in greenish-rosy flight,
And the yellow carriage-light
Blurs all to the half-shut eye.
Slowly turns the gold to red
O'er the humble darkening vales;
Little trees that flatly spread,
Where some feeble birdling wails.
Scarcely sad, so mild and fair
This enfolding Autumn seems;
All my moody languor dreams,
Cradled by the gentle air.
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4/25/2024 7:18:22 AM # 1.0.0.1119
The sun still goes down.....