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Chant For Autumn Post by :The_Biz_Net Category :Poems Author :George Parsons Lathrop Date :July 2011 Read :3577

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Chant For Autumn

Veiled in visionary haze,
Behold, the ethereal autumn days
Draw near again!
In broad array,
With a low, laborious hum
These ministers of plenty come,
That seem to linger, while they steal away.

O strange, sweet charm
Of peaceful pain,
When yonder mountain's bended arm
Seems wafting o'er the harvest-plain
A message to the heart that grieves,
And round us, here, a sad-hued rain
Of leaves that loosen without number
Showering falls in yellow, umber,
Red, or russet, 'thwart the stream!
Now pale Sorrow shall encumber
All too soon these lands, I deem;
Yet who at heart believes
The autumn, a false friend,
Can bring us fatal harm?
Ah, mist-hung avenues in dream
Not more uncertainly extend
Than the season that receives
A summer's latest gleam!

But the days of death advance:
They tarry not, nor turn!
I will gather the ashes of summer
In my heart, as an urn.

Oh draw thou nearer,
Spirit of the distant height,
Whither now that slender flight
Of swallows, winging, guides my sight!
The hill cloth seem to me
A fading memory
Of long delight,
And in its distant blue
Half hideth from my view
This shrinking season that must now retire;
And so shall hold it, hopeful, a desire
And knowledge old as night and always new.
Draw nigher! And, with bended brow,
I will be thy reverer
Through the long winter's term!

So, when the snows hold firm,
And the brook is dumb;
When sharp winds come
To flay the hill-tops bleak,
And whistle down the creek;
While the unhappy worm
Crawls deeper down into the ground,
To 'scape Frost's jailer on his round;
Thy form to me shall speak
From the wide valley's bound,
Recall the waving of the last bird's wing,
And help me hope for spring.

(The end)
George Parsons Lathrop's poem: Chant For Autumn

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The Ghosts Of Growth The Ghosts Of Growth

The Ghosts Of Growth
Last night it snowed; and Nature fell asleep. Forest and field lie tranced in gracious dreams Of growth, for ghosts of leaves long dead, me-seems,Hover about the boughs; and wild winds sweepO'er whitened fields full many a hoary heap From the storm-harvest mown by ice-bound streams! With beauty of crushed clouds the cold earth teems,And winter a tranquil-seeming truce would keep.But such ethereal slumber may not bide The ascending sun's bright scorn--not long, I fear;And all its visions on the golden tide Of mid-noon gliding off, must disappear.Fair dreams, farewell! So in life's stir and

The Fairhaven Bay The Fairhaven Bay

The Fairhaven Bay
I push on through the shaggy wood,I round the hill: 't is here it stood;And there, beyond the crumbled walls,The shining Concord slowly crawls,Yet seems to make a passing stay,And gently spreads its lilied bay,Curbed by this green and reedy shore,Up toward the ancient homestead's door.But dumbly sits the shattered house,And makes no answer: man and mouseLong since forsook it, and decayChokes its deep heart with ashes gray.On what was once a garden-groundDull red-bloomed sorrels now abound;And boldly whistles the shy quailWithin the vacant pasture's pale.Ah, strange and savage he shines,The sun seems staring through those pinesThat once the vanished