Chapter 51
Autumn by Marie Hederwick Brown Red for LibriVox.org by M. Lee Red as blood is Autumn's gown, And a flaming fire her crown, And her fingers sear and scorch, Each one a destroying torch. Neither follows in her wake, Nor the dews her thirst can slake. In her kisses there is death, And decay in every breath.
She makes tunes of what were bowers, Strewn with courses of dead flowers. To the loftiest leaves that wave She but whispers of a grave,
