Autumn, The Year's Last, Loveliest Smile.

Autumn, The Year's Last, Loveliest Smile.

Eloquence Is The Poetry Of Prose.

Gently - So Have Good Men Taught - Gently, And Without Grief, The Old Shall Glide Into The New; The Eternal Flow Of Things, Like A Bright River Of The Fields Of Heaven, Shall Journey Onward In Perpetual Peace.

All Things That Are On Earth Shall Wholly Pass Away, Except The Love Of God, Which Shall Live And Last For Aye.

And Suns Grow Meek, And The Meek Suns Grow Brief, And The Year Smiles As It Draws Near Its Death.