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.
~ Robert Frost ~