If autumn find thee grieving in strange lands,
\nThen know thy life is filmed with moss of years.<\/em><\/p>\nThe autumn comes and stains the boughs with gold;
\nIts pallid dew lies whitening on his head.
\nThe fallen leaves are driven by the wind\u2014
\nHe wanders, wrestling exile in his breast.<\/p>\n
Night settles low; damp vapours haunt the paths.
\nHe sits beside the porch and draws his smoke,
\nAs though in dream; with heavy, burdened heart
\nHe sets a few faint lines upon the page,
\nAnd asks what soul may know his hour of home.<\/p>\n
His eyes grow dim and fasten on the ground;
\nHe marks his feet\u2014so gaunt, so weather-worn.
\nWhere\u2019er he turns, desolation stands.
\nNight falleth soft, and loneliness grows vast.<\/p>\n
He rises sudden, flings his hand through dark;
\nWithin, a storm of anguish breaks its bounds.
\nHow long till home forget the yoke of chains?
\nWhen shall the tyrant\u2019s shadow pass away?<\/p>\n
He chokes upon the lullaby of Mother;
\nHis reddened eyes are blurred with gathering mist:
\n\u201cWhen hath rice-cake ever hidden bone?
\nWhen have the Reds shown mercy to the meek?\u201d<\/p>\n
He knows\u2014and knowing, shuts his weary eyes,
\nAs late-fall leaves are whirled to nowhere\u2019s end.
\nThe wind through grasses murmurs in his ear
\nAnd whispers low: When shall thy foot return?<\/p>\n
O Motherland, thou piercest through his heart.
\nBetter a stone beside the road than this.
\nNow frost hath silvered all the strands of hair\u2014
\nHalf of his mortal span in exile spent.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Thu \u0111\u00e3 v\u1ec1 nhu\u1ed9m v\u00e0ng c\u00e0nh l\u00e1 \/ S\u01b0\u01a1ng thu r\u01a1i \u0111i\u1ec3m tr\u1eafng m\u00e1i \u0111\u1ea7u \/ L\u00e1 r\u01a1i gi\u00f3 cu\u1ed1n v\u1ec1 \u0111\u00e2u \/ H\u1eafn loay hoay v\u1edbi n\u1ed7i s\u1ea7u tha h\u01b0\u01a1ng<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_exactmetrics_skip_tracking":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_active":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_note":"","_exactmetrics_sitenote_category":0,"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[6,1,17],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thovanyenson.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3794"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thovanyenson.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thovanyenson.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thovanyenson.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thovanyenson.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=3794"}],"version-history":[{"count":13,"href":"https:\/\/thovanyenson.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3794\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":18867,"href":"https:\/\/thovanyenson.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3794\/revisions\/18867"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thovanyenson.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=3794"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thovanyenson.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=3794"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thovanyenson.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=3794"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
![](\"images\/poem365muathuvaquehuong.jpg\")
<\/p>\n