Classic and Contemporary Poetry
OCTOBER, 1863, by JANET HAMILTON Poet's Biography First Line: Month of storm, beat shocks and sheaves Last Line: Finds you more wise, more chaste, more sober. Alternate Author Name(s): Hamilton, Janet Thompson Subject(s): Nature; October | ||||||||
MONTH of storm, beat shocks and sheaves, Withered flowers, and falling leaves, Sullen clouds that darkly loom Like the shadows of the tomb; Looks the sun through murky haze With a weird and watery gaze, Lighting up the fields and streams, Vanishing like lightning gleams. Brooks that sung through mead and dingle With a silvery tinkle tingle, Foaming, turbid, rush along With a rudely brawling song. Robin of the noiseless wing And ruddy vest begins to sing His wintry lay, and, flitting by, Scans me with his bold, bright eye. Sore October, thou hast grieved me, Ah! thine advent hath deceived me, For thou cam'st with thunder crashing, Deadly lightnings round thee flashing, Furious gales and drenching rains, Sweeping o'er the ravished plains. I would welcome thee, October, Gracious, mild, serene, and sober; With thy fields of russet hue, With thy skies of hazy blue, With thy sun, whose chastened glory Tells brown Autumn's latest story. Month of all the circling year To my soul's best feelings dear, Sweet the balm thou oft hast poured When my heart had quailed and cowered, And shrunk into its inner cell To bleed unseen. I may not tell The bitter woes, the chilling fears, The grief that lies "too deep for tears," The venomed sting, whose burning smart Thrills o'er the life-strings of my heart. O then how sweet the soft solace To gaze upon thy saintly face, So dreamy, tender, meek, and calm; My spirit drank the soothing balm, The sense of stillness and repose That round thee like a halo flows. Dear to you above all others, You, my toiling, care-worn brothers, Is the needed, blessed boon Of your weekly afternoon, When, with grateful heart and eyes, 'Neath our "Indian summer" skies, Our own October, forth ye go Picking berry, nut, and sloe. While the woodlands dim and sere Their treasure shed to form the bier The death-bed of the waning year Think of your own so very near: So learn, so live, that each October Finds you more wise, more chaste, more sober. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FACING INTO IT; FOR LARRY LEVIS by ELEANOR WILNER A VAGABOND SONG by BLISS CARMAN THE SHEPHEARDES CALENDER: OCTOBER by EDMUND SPENSER LATE AUTUMN by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM OCTOBER by MARIE DAVIES WARREN BECKNER OCTOER WOODS by EMMA INGOLD BOST NORTH WIND IN OCTOBER by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES A BALLAD FOUNDED ON A REAL INCIDENT WHICH OCCURED IN HIGH LIFE by JANET HAMILTON |
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