Verse > Anthologies > James and Mary Ford, eds. > Every Day in the Year
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James and Mary Ford, eds.  Every Day in the Year.  1902.
 
October 1
October
By Dinah Maria Mulock Craik (1826–1887)
 
IT is no joy to me to sit
  On dreamy summer eves,
When silently the timid moon
  Kisses the sleeping leaves,
And all things through the fair hushed earth        5
  Love, rest,—but nothing grieves.
Better I like old autumn,
  With his hair tossed to and fro,
Firm striding o’er the stubble-fields
  When the equinoctials blow.        10
 
When shrinkingly the sun creeps up
  Through misty mornings cold,
And robin on the orchard hedge
  Sings cheerily and bold,
While heavily the frosted plum        15
  Drops downward on the mold;
And as he passes autumn
  Into earth’s lap does throw
Brown apples gay in a game of play,
  As the equinoctials blow.        20
 
When the spent year its carol sings
  Into a humble psalm,
Asks no more for the pleasure draught,
  But for the cup of balm,
And all its storms and sunshine bursts        25
  Controls to one brave calm,—
Then step by step walks autumn,
  With steady eyes that show
Nor grief nor fear, to the death of the year
  While the equinoctials blow.        30
 
 
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