Christopher John Brennan (1870-1932), Australia Autumn Autumn: the year breathes dully towards its death, beside its dying sacrificial fire; the dim world's middle-age of vain desire is strangely troubled, waiting for the breath that speaks the winter's welcome malison to fix it in the unremembering sleep: the silent woods brood o'er an anxious deep, and in the faded sorrow of the sun, I see my dreams' dead colours, one by one, forth-conjur'd from their smouldering palaces, fade...
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