An End

Sara Teasdale

I have no heart for any other joy,
 The drenched September day turns to depart,
And I have said good-bye to what I love,
 With my own will I vanquished my own heart.

On the long wind I hear the winter coming-
 The window-panes are cold and blind with rain;
With my own will I turned the summer from me,
 And summer will not come to me again.