In masks outrageous and austere The years go by in single file; But none has merited my fear, And none has quite escaped my smile.
Elinor WylieThe winter will be short, the summer long, The autumn amber-hued, sunny and hot, Tasting of cider and of scuppernong; All seasons sweet, but autumn best of all. The squirrels in their silver fur will fall Like falling leaves, like fruit, before your shot.
Elinor Wylie