Monday, September 14, 2009

Oh, little rose tree, bloom!
Summer is nearly over.
The dahlias bleed, and the phlox is seed,
Nothing's left of the clover,
And the path of the poppy no one knows.
I would blossom if I were a rose.

Summer, for all your guile,
Will brown in a week to Autumn,
And launched leaves throw a shadow below
Over the brook's clear bottom, --
And the chariest bud the year can boast
Be brought to bloom by the chastening frost.

- Edna St. Vincent Millay

1 comment:

Allison said...

Oh summer, sweet summer!
I sadly bid you well.
Breathe deep.
Is that Autumn I smell?

(oh wow, you got me all poetic!)

Thanks for sharing the poem. It's fits alright.