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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=478106" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Autumn: A Dirge</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=478106" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The warm sun is falling, the bleak wind is wailing,<br>The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying,<br> And the Year<br>On the earth is her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead,<br> Is lying.<br> Come, Months, come away,<br> From November to May,<br> In your saddest array;<br> Follow the bier<br> Of the dead cold Year,<br>And like dim shadows watch by her sepulchre.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=478106" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The chill rain is falling, the nipped worm is crawling,<br>The rivers are swelling, the thunder is knelling<br> For the Year;<br>The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizards each gone<br> To his dwelling.<br> Come, Months, come away;<br> Put on white, black and gray;<br> Let your light sisters play--<br> Ye, follow the bier<br> Of the dead cold Year,<br>And make her grave green with tear on tear.</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=Percy+Bysshe+Shelley">Percy Bysshe Shelley</a></strong></div>

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