October's gold is dim, -- the forests rot, The weary rain falls ceaseless, while the day Is wrapp'd in damp. In mire of village way The hedge-row leaves are stamp'd, and, all forgot, The broodless nest sits visible in the thorn. Autumn, among her drooping marigolds, Weeps all her garnered sheaves, and empty folds, And dripping orchards -- plundered and forlorn. The season is a dead one, and I die! No more, no more for me the spring shall make A resurrection in the earth and take The death from out her heart -- O God, I die! The cold throat-mist creeps nearer, till I breathe Corruption. Drop, stark night, upon my death! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BEFORE SEDAN by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON AN INTERNATIONAL EPISODE (1889) by CAROLINE KING DUER THE AMERICAN FOREST GIRL by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS STELLA AND FLAVIA by MARY BARBER A JAPANESE EVENING by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN FIRST RHYMES by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN LINES SUGGESTED BY A LATE OCCURRENCE by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD |