Classic Poem

The flesh to fragrant whitening of the bough,
Full-flooding fields, and softening sod, doth yearn;
The spirit will to Autumn's wooing burn,
And to October is her tenderest vow:
October, Springtide of the soul! What now
May I compare to raptures that return
When round thine auburn hair these eyes discern
First the wild purple berries kiss thy brow?

My soul bends to thee, as a waiting bride,
Long from her maiden chamber searching far,
Doth see, at last, beneath the vesper star,
Her sunset lover toward her castle ride:
She flings her evening casement open wide,
And leans out through the trembling lattice-bar,
Then, turning, sets her chamber door ajar,
And flies back to the crimsoning windowside.

" Submit thyself to Beauty, " cry the lords
Of this Autumnal pageant: day-end skies
That dwell in calm, like love-remembered eyes —
And the dim dusk of topaz-golden hoards
Streaking the forest like old painted words
Fading along some saint's-page fair and wise —
And windy rivers whose mingled voices rise
To smite rich, vibrant, melancholy chords.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Friend of my heart! Among the Autumn trees
We walk together baring thought to thought
Of this vast symbol-earth wherein lie wrought
Hints of immortal dreams and destinies!
And you and I are part of all of these!
Ourselves mysterious emblems, tones half-caught
From voices far, wherein our souls have sought
Deep meanings, silent, mid earth's melodies.