| Andrew Macphail, comp. The Book of Sorrow. 1916. | | | IX. The Sadness of It
In the Shadows | | By David Gray (1838–1861) |
| | | OCTOBER’S gold is dim—the forests rot, | |
| The weary rain falls ceaseless, while the day | |
| Is wrapp’d in damp. In mire of village way | |
| The hedge-row leaves are stamped; and, all forgot, | |
| The broodless nest sits visible in the thorn. | 5 |
| Autumn, among her drooping marigolds, | |
| Weeps all her garnered sheaves, and empty folds, | |
| And dripping orchards—plundered and forlorn. | |
| The season is a dead one, and I die! | |
| No more, no more for me the Spring shall make | 10 |
| A resurrection in the earth, and take | |
| The death from out her heart—O God, I die! | |
| The cold throat-mist creeps nearer, till I breathe | |
| Corruption. Drop, stark night, upon my death! | | | | |
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