OCTOBER.
85
OCTOBER.
![T](http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/b/bf/IllumPoemsAllenT.png/66px-IllumPoemsAllenT.png)
Purple and gold and crimson rich and strong,
That stain the light, and give my lonesome room
An atmosphere of sunset all day long:
In giddy whirls the yellow elm-leaves fall,
The rifled cherry-boughs grow sere and thinned,
Yet still the morning-glories on the wall
Fling out their purple trumpets to the wind,—
The rifled cherry-boughs grow sere and thinned,
Yet still the morning-glories on the wall
Fling out their purple trumpets to the wind,—
So full but now of summer's triumph-notes,
The moth's soft wing their powdery stamens stirred,
The bees rich murmur filled their honeyed throats,
And the quick thrilling of the humming-bird.
The moth's soft wing their powdery stamens stirred,
The bees rich murmur filled their honeyed throats,
And the quick thrilling of the humming-bird.
In the long dreary nights of storm I hear
The windy woodbine beat against the pane,
The windy woodbine beat against the pane,