Scent of autumn, and the brown leaves’ rustle;
Cloudy clematis among the brambles,
Orange bittersweet along the wayside.
Days too-perfect, priceless for their passing,
Colored with the light of evanescence,
Fragrant with the breath of frailest beauty—
Days ineffable of red October!
THE SINGER CHOOSES THE SONGS OF THE WIND
Henceforth I will sing no songs
But the songs that are fluent, irregular, swift, unguided: