This windy, bright September afternoon My heart is wide awake, yet full
of dreams. The air, alive with hushed confusion, teems With scent of
grain-fields, and a mystic rune, Foreboding of the fall of Summer
soon, Keeps swelling and subsiding; till there seems O'er all the world of
valleys, hills, and streams, Only the wind's inexplicable tune.
My heart is full of dreams, yet wide awake. I lie and watch the topmost
tossing boughs Of tall elms, pale against the vaulted blue; But even now
some yellowing branches shake, Some hue of death the living green
endows:-- If beauty flies, fain would I vanish too.