Classic Poem

After the crisp of fall,
There is beautiful summer weather:
In the air is a wondrous Call,
And tied things strain at their tether,
And creeping and flying things
Walk swift or essay their wings.

Then, a cold Word comes in the night,
Bringing a message of blight:
And the creeping things and the flying
(Ah, the myriad lives effaced,
And the pity of trust misplaced!)
At morn, are dead or dying.

Man, in his knowledge, hath understood:
But the humbler folk of the earth and air
In their vast and vocal brotherhood
(They only petition for living-room)
Do fondly dream that the spring has come,
Till their very blood beats frolicsome:
But they misinterpret a Semblance fair,
And a Broken Promise is their doom.