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Besides the Autumn poets sing
A few prosaic days
A little this side of the snow
And that side of the Haze‐
Emily Dickinson, Besides The Autumn Poets Sing
Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is:
What if my leaves are falling like its own!
The tumult of thy mighty harmonies
Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone,
Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce,
My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!
Drive my dead thoughts over the universe
Like wither'd leaves to quicken a new birth!
And, by the incantation of this verse,
Scatter, as from an unextinguish'd hearth
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!
Be through my lips to unawaken'd earth
The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?
Percy Bysshe Shelley, Ode to the West Wind
Am I awake at all?
Do I wake up just to fall?
Am I still here when I'm gone?
Am I awake at all?
Elise Trouw, Awake
Adagio, HAUSER
Oblivion, NADiA Kossinskaja
Całopalenie2, Michał Lorenc
Awake, Elise Trouw