OCTOBER.

‘——To the influxesOf shapes and sounds and shifting elementsSurrendering the whole spirit.’Coleridge.

‘——To the influxes

Of shapes and sounds and shifting elements

Surrendering the whole spirit.’

Coleridge.

Summer has pleasant seasons, and the springComes gaily on the senses; and ’tis sweetTo know the places of the shadiest trees,And hunt the scented violet; but when theseHave mellowed into autumn, and the flowersSleep in their fragrant places, ’tis to meA pleasanter and purer time to giveClose thought to its forgetfulness, and strayBy the serenest wave and greenest grass.October had come in and I went forthTo breathe an air like June, and feel the nerveOf the elastic temper which a frostGives to the sunshine. The transparent veilOf morning’s exhalations had rolled upInto white, silvery streakings, and the skyLooked perfectly and deeply blue between,Like a fixed element, and birds went upAnd sang invisibly, the heavenly airWooed them above the earth so temptingly.I never knew the streams so musical,Or saw them half so clear; and for the leaves—The maples were just turned, and brighter treesWere never by the forest pencil drawn.The hill-sides seemed to slumber, the warm sunShone on their slopes so softly; and I knewOne that was carpeted with moss, and leantTo the warm south so fitly, you would lookTo find Endymion sleeping. ’Twas indeedA pleasant place, and when I came to itAnd told her, (did I say I was alone?)That it was faery all, and only madeFor her own lovely rest, she laughinglyProclaimed herself a queen, and with the leavesBound her transparent temples for a crown,And bade me kneel, and she would grant my boonTo half her fairy kingdom.Could I paintHer picture then! paint her voluptuous lip,With its sweet curl of pride; the shaded eyeIn its dark liquid lustre; the fair browWith its light wandering veins, and raven braidContrasting with its whiteness; the faint blushUpon her cheek, of maiden modesty,And the rich outline, melting into grace,Of her unmatched proportions; over all,Could I but make the picture eloquentWith the deep, reedy music of her tone,Or lend to you the golden leaf which bearsThe sketch within my memory, you would knowHow fairer than the summer, or the spring,Should the October season seem to me.

Summer has pleasant seasons, and the spring

Comes gaily on the senses; and ’tis sweet

To know the places of the shadiest trees,

And hunt the scented violet; but when these

Have mellowed into autumn, and the flowers

Sleep in their fragrant places, ’tis to me

A pleasanter and purer time to give

Close thought to its forgetfulness, and stray

By the serenest wave and greenest grass.

October had come in and I went forthTo breathe an air like June, and feel the nerveOf the elastic temper which a frostGives to the sunshine. The transparent veilOf morning’s exhalations had rolled upInto white, silvery streakings, and the skyLooked perfectly and deeply blue between,Like a fixed element, and birds went upAnd sang invisibly, the heavenly airWooed them above the earth so temptingly.I never knew the streams so musical,Or saw them half so clear; and for the leaves—The maples were just turned, and brighter treesWere never by the forest pencil drawn.The hill-sides seemed to slumber, the warm sunShone on their slopes so softly; and I knewOne that was carpeted with moss, and leantTo the warm south so fitly, you would lookTo find Endymion sleeping. ’Twas indeedA pleasant place, and when I came to itAnd told her, (did I say I was alone?)That it was faery all, and only madeFor her own lovely rest, she laughinglyProclaimed herself a queen, and with the leavesBound her transparent temples for a crown,And bade me kneel, and she would grant my boonTo half her fairy kingdom.

October had come in and I went forth

To breathe an air like June, and feel the nerve

Of the elastic temper which a frost

Gives to the sunshine. The transparent veil

Of morning’s exhalations had rolled up

Into white, silvery streakings, and the sky

Looked perfectly and deeply blue between,

Like a fixed element, and birds went up

And sang invisibly, the heavenly air

Wooed them above the earth so temptingly.

I never knew the streams so musical,

Or saw them half so clear; and for the leaves—

The maples were just turned, and brighter trees

Were never by the forest pencil drawn.

The hill-sides seemed to slumber, the warm sun

Shone on their slopes so softly; and I knew

One that was carpeted with moss, and leant

To the warm south so fitly, you would look

To find Endymion sleeping. ’Twas indeed

A pleasant place, and when I came to it

And told her, (did I say I was alone?)

That it was faery all, and only made

For her own lovely rest, she laughingly

Proclaimed herself a queen, and with the leaves

Bound her transparent temples for a crown,

And bade me kneel, and she would grant my boon

To half her fairy kingdom.

Could I paintHer picture then! paint her voluptuous lip,With its sweet curl of pride; the shaded eyeIn its dark liquid lustre; the fair browWith its light wandering veins, and raven braidContrasting with its whiteness; the faint blushUpon her cheek, of maiden modesty,And the rich outline, melting into grace,Of her unmatched proportions; over all,Could I but make the picture eloquentWith the deep, reedy music of her tone,Or lend to you the golden leaf which bearsThe sketch within my memory, you would knowHow fairer than the summer, or the spring,Should the October season seem to me.

Could I paint

Her picture then! paint her voluptuous lip,

With its sweet curl of pride; the shaded eye

In its dark liquid lustre; the fair brow

With its light wandering veins, and raven braid

Contrasting with its whiteness; the faint blush

Upon her cheek, of maiden modesty,

And the rich outline, melting into grace,

Of her unmatched proportions; over all,

Could I but make the picture eloquent

With the deep, reedy music of her tone,

Or lend to you the golden leaf which bears

The sketch within my memory, you would know

How fairer than the summer, or the spring,

Should the October season seem to me.

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