Autumn Magic

Soon as divine September, flushing from sea to sea,
Peers from the whole wide upland into eternity,

Soft as an exhalation, ghosts of the thistle start:
Never a poet saw them but ached in his baffled heart.

Gossamer armies rising thicker than snowflakes fall,
Waken in blood and marrow, aware of the unheard call,

Oh, what a nameless urging through avenues laid in air,
Hints of escape, unbodied, intricate, everywhere,

Sense of a feared denial, or access hard to be won;
Gleams of a dubious gesture for guesses to feed upon!

Flame goes flying in heaven, the down on the cool hillside:
Earth is a bride-veil glory to show and conceal the Bride.
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