V AUTUMN DYING
Reading edition
Autumn shakes in golden raiment, Gashed with red; None can ransom him by payment From the dead.
They have shorn his strength with reaping, Left him cold; Now he wakes each morning weeping, Weak and old.
And last night he sought my casement, Came and fled; Wailed for aid from roof to basement, Touched my bed.
Though I cannot find his ransom, Ere he dies; I will pay all that I can—some Hopes and sighs.