A bright antique store, off the street
Gaudy in the sun
Gives a hint of autumn sweet
And goads my instinct in
[color="white"]oooo[/color]For daffodils are a repeating thing
[color="white"]oooo[/color]And I am surfeited of Spring.

The flickered glances say to me,
“What do you want?”
As though a trooper in their garden free.
And in the doorframe sheen 
[color="white"]oooo[/color]One turns his head as though to greet
[color="white"]oooo[/color]And now I tire of men to meet.

I wonder on through galleries
Of schooners on the sound
The chase of shining salaries
Ambition, manifest
[color="white"]oooo[/color]But the gray glistened chop of sea
[color="white"]oooo[/color]Shows me Struggle’s cyclicity.

At last alone, in darkened room
I marvel at some books
Whose voiceless murmurs in the gloom
Spell blind trees and silent flowers
[color="white"]oooo[/color]Of dreams and deadlines met
[color="white"]oooo[/color]Before that time their sun had set.