This rose for all the world for you
These tears for all the dead,
Those empty words of morningtide,
This ever-present dread.

Those cloying smells of perfume
On the dresses of the rich,
This workman stumbling homeward
His body in a ditch.

September’s moon still shining
On this old planet’s doom,
Her wind and tide conspiring;
A chill invades the room.