cruelly, love, walk the autumn long

cruelly, love

walk the autumn long;

the last flower in whose hair,

thy lips are cold with songs

for which is

first to wither, to pass?

shallowness of sunlight

falls and, cruelly,

across the grass

Comes the

moon

love, walk the

autumn

love, for the last

flower in the hair withers;

thy hair is acold with

dreams,

love thou art frail

—walk the longness of autumn

smile dustily to the people,

for winter

who crookedly care.