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WE in the lonely walk by custom marred
Pace once again with steps how burdensome,
And by a bleeding autumn pale and numb
The opening of the avenue is barred.


As in a hospital or prison yard,
The air is chastened with a sadness dumb,
And every golden leaf, its hour being come,
Falls slowly like a memory to the sward.


Between us Silence walks.... Our hearts do ail,
Each is out-travelled, and its wasted sail
Selfishly dreams of being homeward bound


But on these evening woods such sadness broods,
Under the sleeping sky our heart its moods
Forgets by calling back the past profound,


With a veiled voice, as a dead child's might sound.