The Autumn is old,
The sere leaves are flying;-
He hath gather'd up gold,
And now he is dying;-
Old Age, begin sighing!
The vintage is ripe,
The harvest is heaping;-
But some that have sow'd
Have no riches for reaping;-
Poor wretch, fall a-weeping!
The year's in the wane,
There is nothing adorning,
The night has no eve,
And the day has no morning;-
Cold winter gives warning.
The rivers run chill,
The red sun is sinking,
And I am grown old,
And life is fast shrinking;
Here's enow for sad thinking!
Autumn Iii
Thomas Hood
(1)
Poem topics: autumn, life, night, poor, red, sad, sun, warning, winter, fast, cold, morning, gold, year, Valentine's Day, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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