Elegy in Autumn

by Clinton Scollard

Autumn, and leaves that toss

In bright brief triumphing, while they express

The brooding sense of loss.

XXIV

Autumn again down every winding way

That, in the days gone by, our footsteps pressed!—

Instead of woven amaranth would I lay

Above your dust—you gone by paths unguessed—

Love’s deathless asphodel;

Until some happier hour,—when, who shall say?—