Autumn - Stoa
Unbolt the wind to me
Brag I with audacious pride
But that first gust of him
Makes me stumble and shrink
My Braque is covered up
With leaves and windfall pears
His heaven azures me
And his earth is cushioning
The warming of his wine
And the sighing of his fire
His honeys bitterness
Are reviving me
Expose me to the storms
And leave me to despair
But once his cold will die
In my ardent embrace
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