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