October
O hushed October morning mild, Thy leaves have ripened to the fall; Tomorrow's wind,
if it be wild, Should waste them all. The crows above the forest call; Tomorrow they
may form and go. O hushed October morning mild, Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief. Hearts not averse to being beguiled, Beguile us in
the way you know. Release one leaf at break of day; At noon release another leaf; one
from our trees, one far away. Retard the sun with gentle mist; Enchant the land with
amethyst. Slow, slow! For the grapes' sake, if the were all, Whose elaves already are
burnt with frost, Whose clustered fruit must else be lost-- For the grapes' sake along
the all.