the glory is fallen out of the sky the last immortal leaf is dead and the gold year a formal spasm in the dust this is the passing of all shining things therefore we also blandly into receptive earth,O let us descend take shimmering wind these fragile splendors from us crumple them hide them in thy breath drive them in nothingness for we would sleep this is the passing of all shining things no lingering no backward- wondering be unto us O soul,but straight glad feet fearruining and glorygirded faces lead us into the serious steep darkness
This poem is in the public domain.