Autumn Dews
Throw open the shutters, it's seven o'clock!
And impertinent crows take their flight at the shock;
Then dropping their breakfast, they scoff as they pass
O'er the blanket of dew that lies white on the grass.
The mists from the shoulders of hillsides are slipping;
The low Autumn sun burns the dew-drops alive;
And barberry-bushes with rubies are dripping,
And gardners are heaping dead leaves by the drive.
O haste to the forest!—the forest whose fingers
Are clasping dank, green, little jewels of lawn:
Perhaps in some shadowy clearing still lingers
The track of the hare and the flame of the dawn.
Englische Gedichte App
Dieses Gedicht und viele weitere findest Du auch in der Englische Gedichte App.