Autumn Song by William Brighty Rands

                      

AUTUMN SONG

The ash-berry clusters are darkly red;
The leaves of the limes are almost shed;
The passion-flower hangs out her yellow fruit;
The sycamore puts on her brownest suit.

After a silence, the wind complains,
Like a creature longing to burst its chains.
The swallows are gone, I saw them gather;
I heard them murmuring of the weather.

The clouds move fast, the south is blowing;
The sun is slanting; the year is going;
I love to walk where the leaves lie dead,
And hear them rustle beneath my tread.

VOCABULARY:

ashberry- serbal
sycamore- sicomoro
swallow- golondrina (also "tragar")
slant- inclinarse
rustle- crujir
tread- pisada (verb: tread- trod- trodden)