My love is the flame of an unfading autumn,
It is the flare of unconsuming leaves
In an ecstasy of halcyonian space and light;
It is the lingering of tall, untended flowers
And winds that bear the balsams of flown summer
In a valley-land, oblivious and secluded,
Where you shall come and wander tranquilly,
Forgetful of the roseless gardens--
In a quiet valley-land
Where vine to sanguine-colored vine shall lead you on,
Where golden woods and hills shall fold you in,
And you shall peer on pools of lucid bronze
And of black opal--
On vistas of the climbing pine,
And amber willows burning
Against the dreamful mauve of mountains floating vaguely
Within the skies' faint fringes.