A Poem for a Thursday #314

Autumn is my favorite time of year. The cool days, bright sunshine, and colorful leaves bring joy to my heart. However, I am a little bit homesick for a proper New England autumn. Ohio may have fall color, but it can’t hold a candle to the East Coast. Robert Frost seems like the quintessential New England poet to me. Here is a lovely poem about October, which is, I hope we can all agree, absolutely the best month of the year.

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.

October 
Robert Frost