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O HUSHED
October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the
fall;
To-morrow's wind, if it be wild,
Should
waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
To-morrow 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 they were all,
Whose leaves already are burnt with
frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost--
For the grapes' sake along the wall.
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