Kindle Notes & Highlights
November The world is tired, the year is old, The fading leaves are glad to die, The wind goes shivering with cold Where the brown reeds are dry. Our love is dying like the grass, And we who kissed grow coldly kind, Half glad to see our old love pass Like leaves along the wind.
Tunes As the waves of perfume, heliotrope, rose, Float in the garden when no wind blows, Come to us, go from us, whence no one knows; So the old tunes float in my mind, And go from me leaving no trace behind, Like fragrance borne on the hush of the wind. But in the instant the airs remain I know the laughter and the pain Of times that will not come again. I try to catch at many a tune Like petals of light fallen from the moon, Broken and bright on a dark lagoon, But they float away — for who can hold Youth, or perfume or the moon’s gold?
