<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?>
<>
  <node>
    <title>Greacen015</title>
    <Collections>Unpublished Poems</Collections>
    <Contributor>Greacen Estate</Contributor>
    <Coverage>19 Jan</Coverage>
    <Creator>Linen Hall Library</Creator>
    <Date>Wednesday, March 16, 2016</Date>
    <Format>TIFF</Format>
    <Identifier>Greacen015</Identifier>
    <ItemDescription>Manuscript</ItemDescription>
    <Keywords>A London September</Keywords>
    <Language>English</Language>
    <Path>https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/greacen015</Path>
    <Publisher>Linen Hall Library</Publisher>
    <Relation>Linen Hall Library</Relation>
    <Rights>Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA</Rights>
    <Scannedimage>https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Greacen015_0.jpg</Scannedimage>
    <Source>LHL Archive</Source>
    <Transcript>﻿A London Septembet

Slabs of grey light fa11 earthward
On paths brown-carpeted and crisp,
That crackle underfoot at every step.
Autumn rides back a gold-red, sober queen.
Fall that we know so well, yet so endlessly new!
We talk and walk under a temperate sun,
Wishing for short silence; absence of fear,
If only for a time; a cooling of the hot blood
Of violence, wanting authority only to leave us in peace
To stroll and chat under the leaf-thinned trees,
Happy are children playing outside time&#039;s shutters -
And mindless, too, of our blood-red hands.
</Transcript>
    <Type>Text</Type>
  </node>
</>
