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For that a great weariness has come upon me
Here in the remaining day of summer--
And the overgrown yard a stagnant mood,
Under the boughs the apples rotting,
And the fading grasses forgotten of cutting--
Suffer me to wag the tongue a little.


Even as leans on the fainting evening the foliage withering,
I am touched with a song of brown and of shadows,
And of colors lingering.
And I passed before a house of vines
To hear a myriad of birds therein
Crying, crying.