William Talbot Allison (1874–1941)

O AMBER day amid the autumn gloom,

With languid lids drooping on eyes of dream,

How many ancient poets in their bloom

Have sung the strange, sad wonder of thy gleam!

O splendid softness of the iron days,

Mistress between the haunts of life and death,

The poets of our time entune thy praise,

And love the sweet nepenthe of thy breath.

And so to them lost in thy purple eyes,

Come visions of the Vallombrosan groves,

Where flaming dawns, and mellow evening skies,

And falling leaves saw old unhappy loves.