Chanson D’Automne (Paul Verlaine)

Leaf-strewing gales
Utter low wails
Like violins,–
Till on my soul
Their creeping dole
Stealthily wins….

Days long gone by!
In such hour, I,
Choking and pale,
Call you to mind,–
Then like the wind
Weep I and wail.

And, as by wind
Harsh and unkind,
Driven by grief,
Go I, here, there,
Recking not where,
Like the dead leaf.