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...INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP by ROBERT BROWNING GOD by GABRIEL ROMANOVITCH DERZHAVIN SONNET: TO HIS LUTE by WILLIAM DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN TWO WITCHES: 1. THE WITCH OF COOS by ROBERT FROST ON THE DEATH OF DR. SWIFT by JONATHAN SWIFT FAST ANCHOR'D ETERNAL O LOVE! by WALT WHITMAN THE MORAL FABLES: THE SWALLOW, AND THE OTHER BIRDS by AESOP |