# Autumn

October’s bellowing anger breaks and cleaves

The bronzed battalions of the stricken wood

In whose lament I hear a voice that grieves

For battle’s fruitless harvest, and the feud

Of outraged men. Their lives are like the leaves

Scattered in flocks of ruin, tossed and blown

Along the westering furnace flaring red.

O martyred youth and manhood overthrown,

The burden of your wrongs is on my head.

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