Page:Poems Rossetti.djvu/170

Weedy waves are tossed ashore,
 Sea-things strange to sight
Gasp upon the barren shore
 And fade away in light.

In the parching August wind
 Corn-fields bow the head,
Sheltered in round valley depths,
 On low hills outspread.
Early leaves drop loitering down
 Weightless on the breeze,
First fruits of the year's decay
 From the withering trees.

In brisk wind of September
 The heavy-headed fruits
Shake upon their bending boughs
 And drop from the shoots;
Some glow golden in the sun,
 Some show green and streaked,
Some set forth a purple bloom,
 Some blush rosy-cheeked.

In strong blast of October
 At the equinox,
Stirred up in his hollow bed
 Broad ocean rocks;
Plunge the ships on his bosom,
 Leaps and plunges the foam,—
It's oh! for mothers' sons at sea,
 That they were safe at home.