My Virtual Reading Room

It's all a farce,—these tales they tell
About the breezes sighing,
And moans astir o'er field and dell,
Because the year is dying.

Such principles are most absurd,—
I care not who first taught 'em;
There's nothing known to beast or bird
To make a solemn autumn.

( Rest of poem here: )
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This poem is in the public domain.

( Brief bio of poet: )
 
(from yourdailypoem.com)