October - and the skies are cool and gray <br />O'er stubbles emptied of their latest sheaf, <br />Bare meadow, and the slowly falling leaf. <br />The dignity of woods in rich decay <br />Accords full well with this majestic grief <br />That clothes our solemn purple hills to-day, <br />Whose afternoon is hush'd, and wintry brief <br />Only a robin sings from any spray. <br /> <br />And night sends up her pale cold moon, and spills <br />White mist around the hollows of the hills, <br />Phantoms of firth or lake; the peasant sees <br />His cot and stockyard, with the homestead trees, <br />Islanded; but no foolish terror thrills <br />His perfect harvesting; he sleeps at ease.<br /><br />William Allingham<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/late-autumn/
