AN AUTUMN LANDSCAPE

No wind there is that either pipes or moans;

The fields are cold and still; the sky

Is covered with a blue-gray sheet

Of motionless cloud; and at my feet

The river, curling softly by,

Whispers and dimples round its quiet gray stones.

Along the chill green slope that dips and heaves

The road runs rough and silent, lined

With plum-trees, misty and blue-gray,

And poplars pallid as the day,

In masses spectral, undefined,

Pale greenish stems half hid in dry gray leaves.

And on beside the river's sober edge

A long fresh field lies black. Beyond,

Low thickets gray and reddish stand,

[40]

Stroked white with birch; and near at hand,

Over a little steel-smooth pond,

Hang multitudes of thin and withering sedge.

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