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John Payne (Джон Пейн)


HOW is the world of Summer's splendours shorn!
The rose has had its day; from weald and wold
Past is the blossom-pomp, the harvest-gold;
The fields are orphaned of the ripened corn.
The meads, of their lush livery forlorn,
Lie bare and cheerless; Summer's tale is told
And Autumn reigns; the world is waxing old,
Its youth forspent in Plenty's heaped-up horn.
Yet, though the leaves, September, sere and brown
Show on thy time-awearied trees, in sign
Of life burned low, retreating to the root,
With jewels rich and rare, whose like no mine
On earth might yield, bound are thy brows for crown,
Purple and gold and red, of ripening fruit. 

John Payne's other poems:
  1. The Foredawn Hour
  2. July
  3. August
  4. October
  5. June

Poems of another poets with the same name (Стихотворения других поэтов с таким же названием):

  • Hartley Coleridge (Хартли Кольридж) September ("THE dark green Summer, with its massive hues")
  • Thomas Tusser (Томас Тассер) September ("Thresh seed and go fan, for the plow may not lie")
  • Madison Cawein (Мэдисон Кавейн) September ("The bubbled blue of morning-glory spires")
  • Archibald Lampman (Арчибальд Лампмен) September ("Now hath the summer reached her golden close")
  • Hilaire Belloc (Хилар Беллок) September ("I, from a window where the Meuse is wide")
  • Lucy Montgomery (Люси Монтгомери) September ("Lo! a ripe sheaf of many golden days")
  • George Arnold (Джордж Арнольд) September ("Sweet is the voice that calls")

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