The long road lures me and I leave the town To walk far out this golden afternoon. I leave the towering city spires behind, But humbler glories feast the seeing eye. A quiet farmhouse here; there, orchards bend Beneath the weight of fruit. Along the road Are scattered apples blown from laden trees. Here is a tiny valley with a stream That twists its way among the flaming trees, Smoke rises from a farmyard -- burning leaves, Autumn's peculiar fragrance, holding all The memories of autumns past and gone As lilacs hold the essence of all springs. A small pond framed by willows in the curve Below the hill holds in its tranquil depths All of the peace of this still countryside. A bird sings loudly. Does he think it's spring? Again, again, peals forth the triolet! Yes, there he is, upon the topmost bough Of that old tree whose leaves are almost gone. And now I pass by fields whose piled up corn Heaped in great shocks recalls the early days When Indians roamed. Yes, Indian summer this, And even now, while the sun slowly sinks A thin, pale moon is clearly visible Above the corn. A cross-road here, "Blue Gentian Road", leads to a tiny town Where, perched upon a hill, the village church Gleams in the sunset. And an evening bell Sounds softly through the valley. Afternoon Is slipping into dusk. Homeward again ... To where the city blooms with twinkling lights, And pale spires pierce the blue of evening sky. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...INDIAN SUMMER by EMILY DICKINSON WHEN I'M KILLED by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES TO R. B. by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS LAY OF THE TRILOBITE by MAY EMMA GOLDWORTH KENDALL ROSALIND'S MADRIGAL, FR. ROSALIND [ROSALYNDE] by THOMAS LODGE ELEGIAC SONNET: 4. TO THE MOON by CHARLOTTE SMITH THE FIRST DANDELION by WALT WHITMAN FITZ-GREENE HALLECK, AT THE UNVEILING OF HIS STATUE by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER |