OCTOBER EVENING
From here I cannot see the ocean though
I hear its muffled beating far away.
The small roof-silhouettes of ashen grey
Lie flat upon the failing sunset glow,
As clearly etched, as delicately bold
As filmy cinder-shapes before the fire.
The dead leaves rising in a constant spire
Are utter black upon the sky's blurred gold.
Somewhere an owlet whoops. And now I see
Down where the roadway's sweeping curve grows less
A candle with its goblin eye of mirth
From a low window winking eerily.
There's nothing else except the loneliness
Of a great wind between the sky and earth.
I hear its muffled beating far away.
The small roof-silhouettes of ashen grey
Lie flat upon the failing sunset glow,
As clearly etched, as delicately bold
As filmy cinder-shapes before the fire.
The dead leaves rising in a constant spire
Are utter black upon the sky's blurred gold.
Somewhere an owlet whoops. And now I see
Down where the roadway's sweeping curve grows less
A candle with its goblin eye of mirth
From a low window winking eerily.
There's nothing else except the loneliness
Of a great wind between the sky and earth.