Classic Poem

What ghost is this that haunts the ruined world,
When Autumn lights great fires upon the hills?
What essence is it that the wind distils
At the full hour when purple grapes are curled
Upon the vines? Red banners are unfurled,
And a deep silence the gray valley fills.
Something is moving over rocks and rills,
While crimson leaves down lonely lanes are whirled.

It is the phantom of Summer that I see,
The spirit of a maid pale as the moon,
With a sad light within her ghostly eyes.
Her face is like the shadow on a tree,
A dim remembrance of the vanished June,
A hint, a dream of earth's lost paradise.