Joy to spare

Those yellow leaves that litter on the grass
'Mong dry brown stalks that lately blossom'd there
Instil a mournful pleasure as they pass
For melancholy has its joy to spare—

A joy that dwells in autumns lonely walks
& whispers like a vision what shall be
How flowers shall blossom on those witherd stalks
& green leaves clothe each nearly naked tree

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