O hushed October morning
mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to
the fall;
Tomorrow’s wind, if it be
wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest
call;
Tomorrow they may form and
go.
O hushed October morning
mild,
Begin the hours of this day
slow.
Make the day seem to us
less brief.
Hearts not averse to being
beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you
know.
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away.
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!
For the grapes’ sake, if they were all,
Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost—
For the grapes’ sake
along the wall.
