Monday, September 22, 2008

autumn

I am the autumnal sun
by Henry David Thoreau

Sometimes a mortal feels in himself Nature
-- not his Father but his Mother stirs
within him, and he becomes immortal with her
immortality. From time to time she claims
kindredship with us, and some globule
from her veins steals up into our own.

I am the autumnal sun,
With autumn gales my race is run;
When will the hazel put forth its flowers,
Or the grape ripen under my bowers?
When will the harvest or the hunter's moon
Turn my midnight into mid-noon?
I am all sere and yellow,
And to my core mellow.
The mast is dropping within my woods,
The winter is lurking within my moods,
And the rustling of the withered leaf
Is the constant music of my grief....

3 Comments:

Blogger Blog Princess G said...

Beautiful poem.... thank you Phil.

9/22/2008 9:58 PM  
Blogger willow said...

I love this opening line! Lovely words.

Happy Fall, Phil!

9/23/2008 6:52 PM  
Blogger phil said...

Happy Autumn to you both!

9/24/2008 8:04 PM  

Post a Comment

<< Home

11,041 vagabonds plus:
Free Hit Counters
Web Counters

All original designs and text created by the author of this blog, Phil L., are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike3.0 License. All other materials remain the property of their respective owners and/or creators, unless of course they are part of the public domain.