Classic Poem

Without, the skeleton trees in a maze
Of leaves, scant, spare and yellowish brown,
That the wind sends down in a sodden rain;
Below, the river, and there in a blaze,
The sunset flushing like one in pain,
As the torn leaves flutter down.

Within, a woman that lies and sleeps; —
Better asleep than awake perchance,
With such lines and stains on that upturned face;
One by the window that weeps and weeps,
Quietly, tears that leave their trace,
Watching the dead leaves dance.