O, how both bitter and sweet is that breeze,
Both warm and cold when two hearts contend;
Where by November, those sweet breezes end
With winter surging to summer’s green seize.
Virgin, the rose red by November leaves,
Shedding her silk lips in first autumn’s snow,
The garden, now dead, with gray petals grieves
What in the summer was love’s timid glow.
Pastel and pink and orange was October–
Her clouds, that at twilight rippled the sky,
Cool, was the air; the scent struck me sober
Matching those flowers that with a sigh die.
That sweet time of year, when perfume we squeezed
From final roses that winter winds seized.