<p>469. AUTUMN
<a l:href="#c_501"><sup>{*}</sup></a></p>When Autumn has just come, there ismost brief a lull: brief but divine.All day 'tis like some precious prism,and limpidly the evenings shine.Where lusty sickles swung and corn-ears bentthe plain is empty now: wider it seems.Alone a silky filamentacross the idle furrow gleams.The airy void, now birdless, is revealed,but still remote is the first whirl of snow;and stainless skies in mellow blueness flowupon the hushed reposing field.<Январь 1944><p>470. APPEASEMENT
<a l:href="#c_502"><sup>{*}</sup></a></p>The storm withdrew, but Thor had found his oak,and there it lay magnificently slain,and from its limbs a remnant of blue smokespread to bright trees repainted by the rain —— while thrush and oriole made haste to mendtheir broken melodies throughout the grove,upon the crests of which was propped the endof a virescent rainbow edged with mauve.<Осень 1944><p>471. TEARS
<a l:href="#c_503"><sup>{*}</sup></a></p>Human tears. О the tears! you that flowwhen life is begun — or half-gone,tears unseen, tears unknown, you that nonecan number or drain, you that runlike the streamlets of rain from the lowclouds of Autumn, long before dawn…<1944><p>Владислав Ходасевич
<a l:href="#c_504"><sup>{*}</sup></a></p>
