When a sighing begins

 

In the violins

 

Of the autumn-song,

 

My heart is drowned

 

In the slow sound

 

Languorous and long

 

Pale as with pain,

 

Breath fails me when

 

The hours toll deep.

 

My thoughts recover

 

The days that are over,

 

And I weep.

 

And I go

 

Where the winds know,

 

Broken and brief,

 

To and fro,

 

As the winds blow

 

A dead leaf.