Tis the season of Autumn. As we embrace the cool weather and watch the beautiful warm hues of leaves beginning to turn, grab you a cup of tea and enjoy this poem, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
Autumn Within
By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
It is autumn; not without,
But within me is the cold.
Youth and spring are all about;
It is I that have grown old.
Birds are darting through the air,
Singing, building without rest;
Life is stirring everywhere,
Save within my lonely breast.
There is silence: the dead leaves
Fall and rustle and are still;
Beats no flail upon the sheaves
Comes no murmur from the mill.
*This poem is found in public domain.
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