Autumn //

The trees are in their autumn beauty,  
The woodland paths are dry,  
Under the October twilight the water  
Mirrors a still sky;  
Upon the brimming water among the stones          
Are nine and fifty swans.  
The nineteenth Autumn has come upon me  
Since I first made my count;  
I saw, before I had well finished,  
All suddenly mount   
And scatter wheeling in great broken rings  
Upon their clamorous wings.  

Del av W. B. Yeats "The Wild Swans at Coole"

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