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Lord Byron

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My days are in the yellow leaf;
The flowers and fruits of Love are gone;
The worm — the canker, and the grief
Are mine alone!
--
On This Day I Complete My Thirty-Sixth Year, st. 2 (1824)

 
Lord Byron

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Thou wast that all to me, love,
For which my soul did pine —
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All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers,
And all the flowers were mine.

 
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If love were what the rose is,
And I were like the leaf,
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Nature's first green is gold,
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Her early leaf's a flower;
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Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
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A great many things are dying very violently all the time. The best days for violent deaths are Tuesdays. They are the yellow-paint days. Saturdays are second best -- or worst. Saturdays are red-paint days. The Great Death Game is therefore a contest between red-paint days and yellow-paint days. So far yellow-paint days are winning by thirty-one corpses to twenty-nine. Whatever the colour, a violent death is always celebrated by a firework.

 
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The gods are growing old;
The stars are singing Golden hair to gray
Green leaf to yellow leaf,—or chlorophyl
To xanthophyl, to be more scientific.

 
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