Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods, And day by day the dead leaves fall and melt, And night by night the monitory blast Wails in the key-hole, telling how it pass'd O'er empty fields, or upland solitudes, Or grim wide wave; and now the power is felt Of melancholy, tenderer in its moods Than any joy indulgent Summer dealt.
William AllinghamIf any foes of mine are there, I pardon every one: I hope that man and womankind will do the same by me.
William AllinghamNow Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods and day by day the dead leaves fall and melt.
William Allingham