ON August evenings mists arise; They ease the edge of everything; They shade the crimson in the skies, And hush the cornfields; and they bring A mist about my eyes. Feebly the weed-heap fumes away; Sweet is the smell, but strange and strong. 'Tis night; an hour ago 'twas day; Autumn is in a month; how long Seems it, since it was May? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OH YOU ARE COMING by SARA TEASDALE THE HILL WIFE: LONELINESS by ROBERT FROST HYMN: FIRST SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY: 2 by REGINALD HEBER THE AMERICAN FOREST GIRL by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: EDITOR WHEDON by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE VOICE OF THE RAIN by WALT WHITMAN |