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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=360689" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sonnet LXIX: Autumn Idleness</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=360689" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">This sunlight shames November where he grieves<br>In dead red leaves, and will not let him shun<br>The day, though bough with bough be over-run.<br>But with a blessing every glade receives<br>High salutation; while from hillock-eaves<br>The deer gaze calling, dappled white and dun,<br>As if, being foresters of old, the sun<br>Had marked them with the shade of forest-leaves.<br>Here dawn to-day unveiled her magic glass;<br>Here noon now gives the thirst and takes the dew;<br>Till eve bring rest when other good things pass.<br>And here the lost hours the lost hours renew<br>While I still lead my shadow o'er the grass,<br>Nor know, for longing, that which I should do.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Dante+Gabriel+Rossetti">Dante Gabriel Rossetti</a></strong></div>

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