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Edna St. Vincent Millay - The Death Of Autumn
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When reeds are dead and straw to thatch the marshes, 
And feathered pampas-grass rides into the wind 
Like Agèd warriors westward, tragic, thinned 
Of half their tribe; an over the flattened rushes, 
Stripped of its secret, open, stark and bleak, 
Blackens afar the half-forgotten creek, - 
Then leans on me the weight of the year, and crushes 
My heart. I know that beauty must ail and die, 
And will be born again, - but ah, to see 
Beauty stiffened, staring up at the sky! 
Oh, Autumn! Autumn! - What is the Spring to me?
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