A hint of slumber in the wind,
A dreamful stir of blades and stalks,
As tenderly the twilight flows
Down all my garden walks.
My robes of work are thrown aside,
The odor of the grass is sweet;
The pleasure of a day well spent
Bathes me from head to feet.
Calmly I wait the dreary change,--
The season cutting sharp and sheer
Through the wan bowers of death that fringe
The border of the year.
And while I muse, the fated earth
Into a colder current dips,--
Feels winter's scourge, with summer's kiss
Still warm upon her lips.
Back to Maurice Thompson
Get a free collection of Classic Poetry ↓
To be able to leave a comment here you must be registered. Log in or Sign up.