 | Poems |  |
154
AN AUTUMN EVENING.
Queen Autumn now makes progress through the land,
That loyally hath spread along her way
A golden carpet, prankt with many a band
Of broidered flowers and leafage clustering gay.
That loyally hath spread along her way
A golden carpet, prankt with many a band
Of broidered flowers and leafage clustering gay.
The tapestries of the tissued clouds on high,
Rich with the changing glories of the heaven,
Mass round a vaulting of the purest sky
That e'en to festal season can be given.
Rich with the changing glories of the heaven,
Mass round a vaulting of the purest sky
That e'en to festal season can be given.
And tall tree-arches, hung with scented wreaths
And studded with warm fruit, cope every road;
And everywhere a busy joy outbreathes;
And Plenty's wide-mouthed horn is overflowed.
And studded with warm fruit, cope every road;
And everywhere a busy joy outbreathes;
And Plenty's wide-mouthed horn is overflowed.
157
Lately, when this good time was at its best,
One evening found me, with half-wearied pace,
Climbing a hill against the lighted West,
A cool air softly flowing on my face.
One evening found me, with half-wearied pace,
Climbing a hill against the lighted West,
A cool air softly flowing on my face.
I reached the top: the calm and gorgeous sky
Bathed a broad harvest-view in double gold;
Sheaf-tented fields of bloodless victory;
Stacked farms, embosomed in their leafy fold,
Bathed a broad harvest-view in double gold;
Sheaf-tented fields of bloodless victory;
Stacked farms, embosomed in their leafy fold,
Pillared with light blue smoke;—grass-shaded hill
And brown ploughed-land, their graver colourings lent;
And some few heads of corn ungathered still,
Like agèd men to earth, their cradle, bent.
And brown ploughed-land, their graver colourings lent;
And some few heads of corn ungathered still,
Like agèd men to earth, their cradle, bent.
And reapers, gleaners, and full carts of grain,
With undisturbing motion and faint sound
Fed the rich calm; whose marge a mountain chain,
Soaked in dream-colour, girt with Beulah bound.
With undisturbing motion and faint sound
Fed the rich calm; whose marge a mountain chain,
Soaked in dream-colour, girt with Beulah bound.
At length across an easy-falling slope,
Down through the harvesters I sauntered slowly,
Field after field; until I reached a group,
A pleasant group, who were not strangers wholly.
Down through the harvesters I sauntered slowly,
Field after field; until I reached a group,
A pleasant group, who were not strangers wholly.
158
The Farmer, still an active man though grey,
Stood talking to his sturdy second son,
Who had been with the reapers all the day,
And now put on his coat, for work was done.
Stood talking to his sturdy second son,
Who had been with the reapers all the day,
And now put on his coat, for work was done.
And two as lovely girls as ever breathed,
A slender, blue-eyed, golden-headed pair,
Laughed with a little nephew whilst he wreathed
Red poppies through his younger sister's hair.
A slender, blue-eyed, golden-headed pair,
Laughed with a little nephew whilst he wreathed
Red poppies through his younger sister's hair.
I joined the party, at their warm request.
The cheerful dame, outside the cottage-door,
Welcomed her cheerful people and their guest,
Then hastened to display her choicest store.
The cheerful dame, outside the cottage-door,
Welcomed her cheerful people and their guest,
Then hastened to display her choicest store.
The children running to a poor lame boy,
Whose crutches, on the stool beside him leaning,
Seemed in his book forgot,—with eager joy
Gave him the crowded flowers that formed their gleaning.
Whose crutches, on the stool beside him leaning,
Seemed in his book forgot,—with eager joy
Gave him the crowded flowers that formed their gleaning.
With humble wisdom, blotless merriment,
In that low, gentle-simple, plain abode,
Delightful was the evening that I spent;
Closed with a quiet worshipping of God.
In that low, gentle-simple, plain abode,
Delightful was the evening that I spent;
Closed with a quiet worshipping of God.
159
And loitering home—all worldly feelings stilled—
Unclouded peace, a supermortal boon,
Filled all my soul: as heaven and earth were filled
With the white glory of the Harvest Moon.
Unclouded peace, a supermortal boon,
Filled all my soul: as heaven and earth were filled
With the white glory of the Harvest Moon.
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