Classic Poem

They go in companies — the falling leaves,
In the gold silence of the sunset glow;
No wind (that I may feel) their tree bereaves,
They fall as they were beckoned from below!

Yon shining thread of stream through pleasant meads,
No more it loiters, fringing sweets to taste,
As in the spacious summertime, but heeds
A beckoner that bids it seaward haste.

And wild grey covies of the marsh and lake,
Whose flight is set ere fades the morning star,
No moment late their still departure take —
They, too, as they were beckoned, forth and far!

Sign ineluctable that all obey —
And they must journey on — and on beyond!
What beckoner behold they in the way,
What Hermes with a mystic-braided wand?

Oh, I have thought perchance this turning sphere
A staff Caducean divines in space —
Earth, earth herself, in this decrescent year,
A little hastening her goddess pace!

I, kindred of the Earth and all of hers,
I dream, amid the driftage of the Fall ...
What if, among these beckoned wanderers,
I waken to the Signal and the Call!