The other day on Facebook my friend Mary posted this stanza from William Cullen Bryant's poem"The Death of the Flowers." Though it's sad, it's beautiful; so I thought I'd share it here.
The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,
Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere.
Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the withered leaves lie dead;
They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread.
The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay,
And from the wood-top calls the crow, through all the gloomy day.