Crying like a dervish born of dark, Before the sun leaps on the night, -- Out of the hill's mouth into a leaf bed, October comes to life. Going September drips from her eyes, And November's hand's on her breast . . . Oh wisdom! Each year covers a year with a year, As words are covered with words. This is the season of wild grapes gathered While winds romp down a cloud, And leaf and bough shake yesterday's slumber From young October's eyes . . . Out of the sky a screaming trumpet, Gust-blown, crashes silence . . . This season shuts out birds, Time has closed the book of Summer . . . This is the season for yesterday's leaves To sing a hush-hush sound. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: MINERVA JONES by EDGAR LEE MASTERS PORTRAIT OF A BOY by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET IN EQUAL SACRIFICE by ROBERT FROST ON THE SALE OF MY FARM by ROBERT FROST AFTER WRITING A POEM by DAVID IGNATOW IRELAND; WRITTEN FOR THE ART AUTOGRAPH DURING IRISH FAMINE by SIDNEY LANIER |