MILD is the parting year, and sweet
The odour of the falling spray;
Life passes on more rudely fleet,
And balmless is its closing day.
I wait its close, I court its gloom,
But mourn that never must there fall
Or on my breast or on my tomb
The tear that would have soothed it all.
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Wow... I'm not sure what to say... Autumn is one of my favorite times of year (I also love Spring), and I thought this poem would be a little more favorable. Or maybe I'm reading it wrong. I never thought of Autumn as gloomy, but then again, maybe I'm the one who's off. LOL... In any case, well written, although I can't say I agree.
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