Classic and Contemporary Poetry
AUTUMN DIALOGUE, by LOUIS UNTERMEYER Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: No, no', she cries, 'I will not warm my fingers' Last Line: And earth continues to fondle its acre of dust. Alternate Author Name(s): Lewis, Michael Subject(s): Autumn; Seasons; Fall | ||||||||
"No, no," she cries, "I will not warm my fingers On these charred sticks you long to huddle over. Wait, if you like, to see if a spark still lingers; I know the sort of ash you will discover." "But look," he urges, "you who love strange timbres, Here are new harmonies of dying color. Have you no joy in such pale gold and amber? Does gray mean nothing more to you now than dolor?" "No, no," she answers, "it is you who relish This dwindling death; you like to feel the smoulder Creep into words which, as you scrape and polish, Make the thin air about us even colder." Then he, "And what are yours but words that crumple Their borrowed colors like those clouds at sunset Which seemed more fixed than any earthly temple Yet turned to smoke before the first dark onset." A stone grinds under her heel; he does not hold her; The twig she snaps falls with a flaking of rust. The moon shows an edge like the curve of a dead girl's shoulder. And earth continues to fondle its acre of dust. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OUR AUTUMN by ELIZABETH AKERS ALLEN AN AUTUMN JOY by GEORGE ARNOLD A LEAF FALLS by MARION LOUISE BLISS THE FARMER'S BOY: AUTUMN by ROBERT BLOOMFIELD A LETTER IN OCTOBER by TED KOOSER AUTUMN EVENING by DAVID LEHMAN EVERYTHING THAT ACTS IS ACTUAL by DENISE LEVERTOV A BIRTHDAY by LOUIS UNTERMEYER A VOICE FROM THE SWEAT-SHOPS (A HYMN WITH RESPONSES) by LOUIS UNTERMEYER |
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