October's gold is dim, -- the forests rot, The weary rain falls ceaseless, while the day Is wrapp'd in damp. In mire of village way The hedge-row leaves are stamp'd, and, all forgot, The broodless nest sits visible in the thorn. Autumn, among her drooping marigolds, Weeps all her garnered sheaves, and empty folds, And dripping orchards -- plundered and forlorn. The season is a dead one, and I die! No more, no more for me the spring shall make A resurrection in the earth and take The death from out her heart -- O God, I die! The cold throat-mist creeps nearer, till I breathe Corruption. Drop, stark night, upon my death! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...INDIFFERENCE by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY SONG OF THE BANNER AT DAY-BREAK by WALT WHITMAN ON HIS ENGAGEMENT TO BE MARRIED by CHARLES WILLIAM BRODRIBB IS THIS THE PRICE OF LOVE? by JOSEPH SEAMON COTTER JR. OUTWARD BOUND by DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK THE GREAT FIGHT by WILLIAM HENRY DRUMMOND |