The long sobs Of violins Of autumn Wound my heart With a monotone Languor. All breathless And pale, when The hour sounds, I remember Former days And I cry; And I go In an ill wind Which carries me Here, there, Like a Dead leaf.
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The long sobs Of violins Of autumn Wound my heart With a monotone Languor. All breathless And pale, when The hour sounds, I remember Former days And I cry; And I go In an ill wind Which carries me Here, there, Like a Dead leaf.
No posts