Down the autumn ways that shine
With crimson leaf and verdant pine
Where all September’s gold in them
Seems radiant as Jerusalem—
Shall I away to where the spring
Of sister streamlets murmuring dream
Of summers when they held their glass
To daisies on their banks of grass?
Nay, I shall journey farther on
And leave their laughing, questing song
Where all the woodlands seem to say,
“Where, oh, where has thy Love gone away?”
© 2015 by Colin Harker. All rights reserved.