Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE NUTTER, by HERBERT TRENCH


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE NUTTER, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: I am the autumn. Rising from the throne
Last Line: Roaring all night with passage, knows that it is I!
Subject(s): Nuts & Nutting


I

I AM the Autumn. Rising from the throne
I watch the pageant of my courtiers pass;
Chestnuts' canary-feather'd beauty strown --
The lime's gold tribute at his foot amass --
Then fragile jewels from the larches blown
Enrich with disarray the trembling grass,
Until the beggar'd elms, too proud to bend,
Emblaze a hundred winds with my rash kingdom's end.

2

But look! within the beech's burning house
Some Nutter, deaf to shouts of fellow-thieves,
Hath flung him with his crook to dream and drowse
Flush-cheek'd, alone, upon the mounded leaves.
The curious squirrel headlong from his eaves
Creeps down to mark: then drops with sudden souse;
The still-come culvers burst away; and flits
The beechmast-feasting multitude of shadowy tits.

3

Where are thy friends? Gone on to sack the glades,
My rooms of tatter'd state, not to return.
No moth-bright brambles and no rainy braids
Of ivy, 'mid the sheen and smoke of fern,
Could trammel-up the tempest of their raids.
Up, boy! pursue them down the misty burn!
But on his bosom tann'd, in slumber fast,
Patter'd the mimic shower of ever-dropping mast.

4

What, lad? The last of my poor banquet lose
To thy wild kin of air? For them the dell
O'er-briar'd hath lean rose-berries and yews
And scarlet fruits of ash, that ere they swell
The missel-thrushes, fluttering, poise to choose;
Privet is theirs and briony as well,
And redwings wait for the frost-mellow'd sloe,
Their orchard is the spinney-side -- Awake, and go!

5

Leaf-driven, my young October in a while
Awoke bemazed; on ragged knee arose,
Snatch'd at his crook, and hid a shamed smile
Vaulting the ruddy brambles. As he goes
Far off I hear his voice; so freshet flows
Warbling to wander many a forest mile --
So Dryad may the rooty pool forsake
Afraid, or antler'd shadow melt into the brake.

6

And I go too, -- ah! not with mortal things
Naked of riches here to flutter down --
But soar and tremble in a million wings
Above the fen, the coastland, and the town,
Forth by the dark sea's sunken islands boune
Sweeping to choir Apollo where he sings
Unslain! The lighthouse lamp, that hears the sky
Roaring all night with passage, knows that it is I!





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