In autumn when the woods are red
And skies are gray and clear,
The sportsmen seek the wild fowls’ bed
Or follow down the deer;
And Cupid hunts by haugh and head,
By riverside and mere.
I walk, not seeing where I tread
And keep my heart with fear.
Sir, have an eye, on where you tread
And keep your heart with fear,
For something lingers here;
A touch of April not yet dead,
In Autumn when the woods are red
And skies are gray and clear.
Public-domain source text
In Autumn When the Woods Are Red
by Robert Louis Stevenson
From Standard Ebooks · standardebooks/robert-louis-stevenson_poetry
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