When the variegate spectacle of leaves
Frowns, and I find myself blushing
Still before another body, bare, only
Curves in a stark sky
And when the cupped edge of a brown
Vintage falls, solitaire and silent,
But manifest yet in the play of wind
And light, I
By way of introduction sing the fall,
Whose beautiful lashes attracted the lacerate
Mud by pure springs steaming
Fresh heat.
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