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The October Redbreast

Autumn is weary, halt, and old;    Ah, but she owns the song of joy! Her colours fade, her woods are cold.    Her singing-bird’s a boy, a boy.

In lovely Spring the birds were bent    On nests, on use, on love, forsooth! Grown-up were they. This boy’s content,    For his is liberty, his is youth.

The musical stripling sings for play    Taking no thought, and virgin-glad. For duty sang those mates in May.    This singing-bird’s a lad, a lad.

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http://poetry.elcore.net/CatholicPoets/Meynell/Meynell116.html Created April 14, 2001; not revised.