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| Image: Teresa Blanton |
October
O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow's wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
Tomorrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away.
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!
For the grapes' sake, if they were all,
Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost--
For the grapes' sake along the wall.
- Robert Frost
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Ah, fall has landed in New England. I was back home in Maine and up in the White Mountains last month, a little too early. Robert Frost always brings me back home, though. His farm was two miles from my uncle's in Derry. I don't know if you have had a chance to visit it, but it has all those things he writes about: the mending wall, the west-running brook, the birches (that are such fun to climb up until they bend down), and, of course, the rooms where he homeschooled his children long before homeschooling became fashionable. I think it is still open to public visitation. Thanks for posting my favorite poet today.
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