18 October 2006 | Vol. 6, No. 3

Song of Autumn

by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE

I.

Soon into frozen shades, like leaves, we'll tumble.

Adieu, short summer's blaze, that shone to mock.

I hear already the funereal rumble

Of logs, as on the paving-stones they shock.

Winter will enter in my soul to dwell –

Rage, hate, fear, horror, labour forced and dire!