Leaves have started to fall in Père Lachaise Cemetery.
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Yesterday was National Poetry Day in the U.K.
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From "Ode To The West Wind" by Percy Bysshe Shelley
O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being,
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,
Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,
Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou,
Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed ...
The trumpet of a prophecy!
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,
Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,
Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou,
Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed ...
The trumpet of a prophecy!
O Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?
