A wind streamed through my hair outside,
The leaves fell broken, one by one:
Outrageous, bold, and outspread hands,
Like splotches of thick oil paint on canvas,
Comprising acres of flaming sea.
Thus strewn, Old Nature’s majesty!
The tiger carpet twirls it out for miles,
Muffling the fox’s foot and the hare’s
Hind leg. I paced around a garden,
Where trees gnarl themselves with the weather of years.
A brook writhes in the way of its ancient motion,
Low mirror of silver and frothy spumes!
The last rose of summer exudes its scent,
To tantalize a mind more bent,
On the beauty of intertwining, tapered thorns,
On the rocky soil and far expanse of sky,
Extending out to cold primordial eternity.
There was neither fence nor boundary,
As warm miles melted into night,
And company was a distant star.

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