OCTOBER TWILIGHT.
Oh mute among the months, October, thou,
Like a hot reaper when the sun goes down
Reposing in the twilight of the year!
Is yon the silver glitter of thy scythe
Drawn thread-like on the west? September comes
Humming those waifs of song June's choral days
Left in the forest, but thy tuneless lips
Breathe only a pervading haze that seems
Visible silence, and thy Sabbath face
Scares swart November, from yon northern hills
Foreboding like a raven. Yellow ferns
Make thee a couch; thou sittest listless there,
Plucking red leaves for idleness; full streams
Like a hot reaper when the sun goes down
Reposing in the twilight of the year!
Is yon the silver glitter of thy scythe
Drawn thread-like on the west? September comes
Humming those waifs of song June's choral days
Left in the forest, but thy tuneless lips
Breathe only a pervading haze that seems
Visible silence, and thy Sabbath face
Scares swart November, from yon northern hills
Foreboding like a raven. Yellow ferns
Make thee a couch; thou sittest listless there,
Plucking red leaves for idleness; full streams
