[1]<\/sup><\/a><\/p>\n The trees are in their autumn beauty, The nineteenth autumn has come upon me I have looked upon those brilliant creatures, Unwearied still, lover by lover, But now they drift on the still water, \u2014<\/b>\u00a01919<\/p>\n
\nThe woodland paths are dry,
\nUnder the October twilight the water
\nMirrors a still sky;
\nUpon the brimming water among the stones
\nAre nine-and-fifty swans.<\/p>\n
\nSince I first made my count;
\nI saw, before I had well finished,
\nAll suddenly mount
\nAnd scatter wheeling in great broken rings
\nUpon their clamorous wings.<\/p>\n
\nAnd now my heart is sore.
\nAll’s changed since I, hearing at twilight,
\nThe first time on this shore,
\nThe bell-beat of their wings above my head,
\nTrod with a lighter tread.<\/p>\n
\nThey paddle in the cold
\nCompanionable streams or climb the air;
\nTheir hearts have not grown old;
\nPassion or conquest, wander where they will,
\nAttend upon them still.<\/p>\n
\nMysterious, beautiful;
\nAmong what rushes will they build,
\nBy what lake’s edge or pool
\nDelight men’s eyes when I awake some day
\nTo find they have flown away?<\/p>\n