When I go up through the mowing field,
The headless aftermath,
Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,
Half closes the garden path.
And when I come to the garden ground,
The whir of sober birds
Up from the tangle of withered weeds
Is sadder than any words
A tree beside the wall stands bare,
But a leaf that lingered brown,
Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought,
Comes softly rattling down.
I end not far from my going forth
By picking the faded blue
Of the last remaining aster flower
To carry again to you.
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Comments2Eh, I didn't really enjoy this poem that much. It just seemed too plain and simple, and didn't evoke any strong emotions in me. It was just about walking through a field and garden, and didn't grab my attention or imagination. But I guess it might be comforting to some people, just not my cup of tea.
I'm left feeling a mix of tranquillity and melancholy after reading this. The imagery of nature, the quiet contemplation, and the sense of solitude were truly evocative. One can almost feel the cool chill of autumn air. It's beautiful in its simplicity and solemnness.