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TOWARD sweet October pilgrim winter creeps,
Brushed by the last lone swallow's frightened wings.
Let us dream ... the fire is lit, the North wind sings.
Let us dream ... in ermine ashes the fire sleeps.


Monotonous rain the blackening window sweeps.
The lamp-shade lights its chastened rose, and brings
The autumn's chambered sweet rememberings,
Raising the soul foundered in weltering deeps.


The town is far. Through folded curtains steals
Only the dying din of rumbling wheels ...
Let us from miniatures frail dreams unlock.


My soul unto a mauve horizon steers
Whose sweetness fades; and from the crazy clock
The hour in ribbons strikes a hundred years.