Villanelle


    By Edmund Gosse


    WOULDST thou not be content to die


    When low-hung fruit is hardly clinging,


    And golden Autumn passes by?


    Beneath this delicate rose-gray sky,


    While sunset bells are faintly ringing,


    Wouldst thou not be content to die?


    For wintry webs of mist on high


    Out of the muffled earth are springing,


    And golden Autumn passes by.


    O now when pleasures fade and fly,


    And Hope her southward flight is winging,


    Wouldst thou not be content to die?


    Lest Winter come, with wailing cry


    His cruel icy bondage bringing,


    When golden Autumn hath passed by.


    And thou, with many a tear and sigh,


    While life her wasted hands is wringing,


    Shalt pray in vain for leave to die


    When golden Autumn hath passed by.