Poem by Paul Hamilton Hayne

October

THE passionate Summer's dead! the sky's a-glow,
  With roseate flushes of matured desire,
The winds at eve are musical and low,
  As sweeping chords of a lamenting lyre,
  Far up among the pillared clouds of fire,
Whose pomp of strange procession upward rolls,
With gorgeous blazonry of pictured folds,
  To celebrate the Summer's past renown;
  Ah, me! how regally the Heavens look down,
O'ershadowing beautiful autumnal woods,
  And harvest fields with hoarded increase brown,
And deep-toned majesty of golden floods,
  That raise their solemn dirges to the sky,
  To swell the purple pomp that floateth by. 

1. “Too Low and Yet Too High”
2. Now, While the Rear-Guard of the Flying Year
3. In Harbor
4. Pent in This Common Sphere of Sensual Shows
5. Along the Path Thy Bleeding Feet Have Trod

Edgar Guest October ("Days are gettin' shorter an' the air a keener snap")

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