autumn poetry

the mountains they are silent folk
grieve not for the invisible
city that is not a city
they may talk of love in a cottage
uplifting, as the wind blew
sing again the song you sung
if i were very sure
since i have felt the sense of death
the fragrance came
let us express our baser passions
sleep, gray brother of death
my mother twines me roses wet with dew
o fair and stately maid, whose eyes