LYRIC night of the lingering Indian Summer, Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing, Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects, Ceaseless, insistent. The grasshopper's horn, and far off, high in the maples The wheel of a locust leisurely grinding the silence, Under a moon waning and worn and broken, Tired with summer. Let me remember you, voices of little insects, Weeds in the moonlight, fields that are tangled with asters, Let me remember you, soon will the winter be on us, Snow-hushed and heartless. Over my soul murmur your mute benediction While I gaze, oh fields that rest after harvest, As those who part look long in the eyes they lean to, Lest they forget them. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...UNMANIFEST DESTINY by RICHARD HOVEY AN ESSAY ON MAN by ALEXANDER POPE SONNET: 2 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE CHARACTERS: MARY HOLLAND ENFIELD by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE SECRET OF THE WATERFALL by WILLIAM ROSE BENET AN ELEGY ON SIR THOMAS OVERBURY; POISONED IN THE TOWER OF LONDON by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) |