This opulent earth, this wealth, these incredible red
        leaves
Once were ours, ours more than other seasons. (Au-
        tumn drunken,
Triumphant, I called you.) Now in alternate gloom
        and stealth,—
Such is our habit now, that hides and grieves,—
Over a frozen field, in a shrunken place here two
        months hence
I see clouds moving winter-dull and dense;
Over the gathered sheaves, over this opulent earth,
Over this wealth, these incredible red leaves,
The shadows come in winter-darkened patches.
O, the heart matches winter better now.
                                                               Still, the sense
Remembers the red chaos, the melancholy red,
The sorrow, the madness; no, it will no longer
       remember….

Winter, winter wind, blow clutter clean.
Winter, winter wind, blow clutter clean.

Begin, begin, begin,
Begin again_.