| Another year dead, and the harvest moon;
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| Leaves burning is the peasant’s legacy
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| Knelling, as the cheek of Summer is kiss’d--
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| Shivering of the elm, she is entomb’d
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| The hay wain creaks through the countryside
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| As poet Autumn’s fires scorch all this world
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| They are entranced by the turning mill wheel
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| Clear and cutting with Proserpine’s kiss
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| Bless the sun, decked in gorgeous array--
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| Frost, and the dignity of flameless light
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| The hermit’s cottage, fashioned rough of stone--
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| Smoke rolling slow behind the orchard’s bloom
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| Like a cairn, the stones are aligned in silence;
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| Arrayed by a bloodless hand, out through veils
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| Time is easily torn while pitchforks twist
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| Twist as easily through her golden hair
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| Seasons that kill years…
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| Death that mangles hearts…
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| Loves that lose their shine…
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| Tombs that are forgot…
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| Darkness awaits behind the suffering day
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| Men that waste lives in search of Heaven
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| Stones are sobbing in a vernal field
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| Thoughts of spring and cascades before you die |