I turned as new resigned:

A summer gleaned, my business was within,

My charge the sober mind,

My care the wintry bin.

And found the boughs in stain,

Past-promise-hued. O not

Before, earnest as rich was yet so plain;

A harvest was ungot.

Beech drenching down my pathway goldenheart,

Ash, pensive light-cheek rose,

Both pluck the thought apart,

And meant you, heart, to close?

So fell the doomed farewells;

So, so looked forth a thing:

Regret, reproach, what else

Must baffle, vex, beguile this severing