I am intrigued with autumn's crimson call, And stand amazed at its deep mystery; The ripe fruit burning on the leafless tree Reveals again a certain miracle. How well I know that leaves must fade and fall, And crystal snowflakes shroud the secrecy Of barren limb and icy agony, Till April comes with emerald interval. The vivid autumn always brings to me A lifted hill against a sunset sky; Upon its breast a cross wrought of a tree, And hanging there -- The Christ! And if to die Is but to know, a while, the loam's caress, I glorify the autumn's loveliness. |