Autumn Song
With long sobs
the violin-throbs
of autumn wound
my heart with languorous
and montonous
sound.
Choking and pale
When i mind the tale
the hours keep,
my memory strays
down other days
and I weep;
and I let me go
where ill winds blow
now here, now there,
harried and sped,
even as a dead
leaf, anywhere.
Poem by
Paul Verlaine
Biography |
Poems
| Best Poems | Short Poems
| Quotes
|
Email Poem |
Summaries, Analysis, and Information on "Autumn Song"
More Poems by Paul Verlaine