November 20, 2003
the last red leaf...
Tonight the winds begin to rise
and roar from yonder dropping day;
the last red leaf is whirled away,
the rooks are blown about the skies;
the forest cracked, the waters curled,
the cattle huddled on the lea;
and wildly dashed on tower and tree
the sunbeam strikes along the world;
And but for fancies, which aver
that all thy motions gently pass
atwart a plane of molten glass,
I scarce could brook the strain and stir
that makes the barren branches loud;
and but for fear it is not so,
the wild unrest that lives in woe
would dote and pore on yonder cloud
that rises upward always higher,
and onward drags a labouring breast,
and topples round the dreary west,
a looming bastion fringed with fire.
--Alfred, Lord Tennyson--