(From Twilight Clear)

The autumn hour is hazy,
The year is on the wing;
The scents of Old Forgetfulness
Are rich on every thing.

The Earth is smug and drowsy,
Its thoughts seem grey and deep;
Its summer's fun has had its run,
Now it would sink to sleep.

But do trees argue with their God
If they shall bud again?
Do woodlands blaze and doubtings raise
Against next summer's rain?

Where search the eyes in azure skies
For heresies deplored,
That losing breath in winter's death
Is something to be scored?

The Earth rolls on, with turn content,
To die, and live, and die;
To love its storms as Life performs
And sigh no futile sigh.

Should I disdain Great Wisdom's pain,
Or learn with shrubs and sod,
To join Old Earth in autumn mirth,
That's learned to trust its God?

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