AN AUTUMN STREAM
Where the rivulet loiters and stops,
The bittersweet hangs from the tops
Of the alders and cherries
Its bunches of beautiful berries,
Orange and red.
And the snowbirds
Tossing up on the far brown field,
Now flashing and now concealed,
Like fringes of spray
That banish and gleam on the gray
Field of the sea.
Come the last of the leaves down borne,
And patches of pale white corn
In the wind complain,
Like the slow rustle of rain
Noticed by night.
The sentinel mullein looms,
With the pale gray shadowy plumes
Of the goldenrod;
And the millkweed opens its pod,
Tempting the wind.
A cloudrift opens and shines
Through a break in its gorget of pines,
And it dreams at my feet
In a sad, silvery sheet,
Seem plunged into silence, distraught,
By some stern, some necessitous thought:
It wraps and enthralls
Marsh, meadow, and forest; and falls
Also on me.