To-night the tumult of the autumn wind Rushes between the ragged grey of heaven And earth's autumnal grey -- swift, swift and loud -- Filled with the wings of wild birds southward blown And with the wings of leaves that only fly Their red and golden flight when they are dead. And we who keep unwillingly the earth, Are caught, are caught up with the birds and the leaves, Are whirled above the spare, unblossoming fields, Along the pallid torrents of the air, Far from the earth we know, past the dead moon, Beyond the blue-lit, scattered spheres of night That flicker down the dark like shaken leaves, On, on, with the rushing wind of autumn, Out to the stark, last outpost of creation Where nothingness surges. . . . From that wan strand where breaks that ebon tide, Could we behold, were spirit vision ours, The blowing legions of the homeless dead In wraithy phosphorus against the void? A little while, O winds that rush and call, A little while, O leaves, and we shall know! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MONUMENT MOUNTAIN by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT ON DIGITAL EXTREMITIES by FRANK GELETT BURGESS WRITTEN IN NORTHAMPTON COUNTY ASYLUM by JOHN CLARE ECHO by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE ODE TO WORK by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS LAURENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IRELAND: 2. FINLAY by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM QUATORZAINS: 4. TO SOUND by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |