Low autumn clouds and a wind to take them anywhere. Wild flying leaves, that do not know they are dead, Because the limbs they have fallen from are unforgotten, And all spring said. Rain is coming, and with it cold, the traveller, Out of the north, to harden the earth with frost. Then those children of death, the leaves, will lie down quietly, No longer wind-tossed. This has happened before. This will happen forever. The old habits of earth are strange and strong. Turn monk or faun, then -- and pray, or rove the woods joyfully. The winter is long. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NEBUCHADNEZZAR: OR EATING GRASS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SARAH'S MONSTERS by KAREN SWENSON THE FIRST VOYAGE OF JOHN CABOT [1497] by KATHARINE LEE BATES |