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Electric light illuminates

The honey skin of leaves,

In slight attacks of fever

The shadow of the moon

Stands still

In Scorpio.

Two fine eyes – the craters

Are burning in solitude

Below the cloud fringe

– the famous cumulus of Low Lands –

That fall over the moon’s forehead.

The silence obliges trees

To re-create within themselves

All lights and music

And thrills of nature

And blossoming together.

To thoroughly know autumn

And to judge it sanely

Is a great stride forward,

Toward happiness –

A virtue of the melancholy

Of yellowed pages

Which makes a

Smile of tenderness

Stray over the lips.