When the autumn roses
Are heavy with dew,
Before the mist discloses
The leaf’s brown
hue,
You would,
among the laughing hills
Of yesterday
Walk innocent in the daffodils,
Coiffing up your auburn
hair
In a puritan
fillet, a chaste white snare
To catch and keep me with you there
So far
away.
When from the autumn roses
Trickles the dew,
When the blue mist uncloses
And the sun looks
through,
You from
those startled hills
Come away,
Out of
the withering daffodils;
Thoughtful, and half afraid,
Plaiting a heavy, auburn
braid
And coiling it
round the wise brows of a maid
Who was scared in her
play.
When in the autumn roses
Creeps a bee,
And a trembling flower encloses
His ecstasy,
You from your lonely
walk
Turn
away,
And leaning to
me like a flower on its stalk,
Wait among the beeches
For your late bee who
beseeches
To creep
through your loosened hair till he reaches,
Your heart of
dismay.