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ASPECTS OF AUTUMN, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: In the wonder of their weaving lie the forests and the fields
Last Line: Yea, utterly forgotten, every one.
Subject(s): Autumn; Forests; Hearts; Love; Mythology - Classical; Pan (mythology); Seasons; Tears; Fall; Woods

IN the wonder of their weaving lie the forests and the fields;
Rich the broodings of October, rich the magic that it wields,
With the marvel of its color like the sparkles in old wine
And the music of its breathing from the tops of ancient pine.

There are dusky purple shadows in the cool of yonder trees,
But the open plains shine yellow down the corn shocks' companies.
Oaks in bronze, and birches candid, somber hemlocks make a ring
Girdling round the green of meadows that seem strayed from some lost spring.

Thus a splendid beast recumbent, with his skin of tawny glow,
Sun-soaked, satisfied, might stretch him where the jungle rivers flow;
Thus a rug of silken texture, mellowed by the dust of years,
Might be laid before a princess to enchant her from her tears.

Tranced, superb, and deep in dreaming, do you lie, this day of days,
League on league of autumn landscape, in the vast horizon haze;
And the umber of your furrows and the russet of your red
Seem to garb some great earth spirit rising sheerly from the dead

To resume the elder keeping of an age of Innocence,
When to look for joy, and breathing sent a thrill through every sense,
When Pan's pipe still fluted golden where in dance the wood nymph whirled,
And my Love and I went footing, -- in the first dawn of the world!


Ah, Autumn, now that you and I must part,
You linger, goldenly, your footstep slow,
Even as a friend, beloved of the heart,
Seems doubly dear just as he turns to go.

You pause by noon, deep sighing through the trees,
And in the spangled sunset hold your breath,
So I may note your splendid symphonies
Of color, that the night shuts in to death.

Your leaves rain down and prank the forest ways
With tapestries of yellow, red and brown,
And through the glooming glory of your haze
I glimpse the dreaming towers of the town.

October odors between sod and sky
Remind me of the faith of earthly things,
As if you murmured: "Surely, by and by
I shall come back, with birds and errant wings."

The sweet and strong communion 'twixt us two
Is more than all the mouthings among men;
You are not beautiful alone, but true;
I bide the season till you come again.

And oh, be sure of one fond heart, that waits,
Loving and longing, midst of wintry fear,
Until, once more aglow, you ope the gates
Of harvest, and fulfil the fruitful year.


When autumn, pranked in sober pageantry,
Returns to earth and broods along the sky,
Then are the field-fires lighted, and men see
Blue smoke uprise from brush heaps, far and nigh.

A pungent smell is in the nostrils, dim
Athwart the sun the haze makes luminous gold;
Deep in the distance, on the horizon's rim,
The spirals fade in wreathings manifold.

The tang and gray-blue mist and crackle fine
Blend in to stir the secret place of tears;
I hear a message I may scarce define
From immemorial autumns of lost years.

Upwelling from the heart come storied dreams,
The campfires of my fathers seem to glow
In primal forests, and you smoke-trail seems
A painted picture of the long ago.

The feel of fall, the brooding trance, the fire
Whose smoke crawls up to make of heaven a blur,
All seem a link between the son and sire, --
They bring them back, the wayfarers that were

Upon the earth, like us, alert and strong,
Feasting or fasting, underneath the sun,
But now mist-hid, evanished like a song,
Yea, utterly forgotten, every one.

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