Autumn Song

O wild wind,
You are my own!
If you could pile
Your leave for me,
Tangle the russet trees
To light my way
To all your awakenings.

Bring me the wild lyre,
Where all the scattered leaves
Are heartrending chords
Fingers playing
On the thin stillness.

Sing my name, O wind,
Every note
Whispering through the sifting
Esplanades of autumn.

— D.H. Lawrence

• DH Lawrence