Love and the lyre I thought to sing,
And kisses sweet to give and take
By the flowery hawthorn brake.
Now is russet Autumn here,
Death and the grave and winter drear,
And I must ponder here aloof
While the rain is on the roof.
I've observed before that Robert Louis Stevenson had a particularly good way with very short poems and with striking first lines, and this is an excellent example of both.
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