English Rendering
The leaves are fallen, and the frost doth fly,
And all the air is clarion‑clear and cold;
And lo, where the wide river empties lie,
A hundred leagues the advancing tides unfold.
A wind, salt‑sharp, from the unsounded deep
Brings the dank odour of the whale‑path nigh;
And like a burst of snow on crags that keep,
With roar of thunder‑drums the surges cry.
The half‑veiled sun, the cloud‑wrack dim and dun,
Behold the flood that fills the channel’s span;
The merchant‑sails are past, the race is run,
But still the heaving plain of wrath rolls on.
I from the tower at dawn‑time gaze, and find
Thoughts that out‑soar the scene, unbounded, vast;
And round the city, in the autumn wind,
The maple flames, the asters hold them fast.
