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Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods,

And day by day the dead leaves fall and melt,

And night by night the monitory blast

Wails in the key-hold, telling how it pass'd

O'er empty fields, or upland solitudes,

Or grim wide wave; and now the power is felt

Of melancholy, tenderer in its moods

Than any joy indulgent summer dealt....

 

From Autumnal Sonnet by William Allingham

 

September 26th 2006

 

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Taken on September 26, 2006