Poems (Blake)/October

by Mary Elizabeth Blake

For works with similar titles, see October.

OCTOBER.

She stands upon the silent hills,
 A tender sorrow in her eyes,
As one whose heart at parting thrills
 With summer's sunniest memories;
While, waking from her tearful gloom,
 With cheeks on fire and eyes aflame,
All nature blushes into bloom
 At sound of her beloved name.

The wild woods weave their brightest spells
 To gem the splendor of her hair;
The wild winds swing their sweetest bells
 And die with all their music there;
The banners of her pride unfurled
 Float on the breezes faintly sweet,
And empress of a conquered world,
 She sees its trophies at her feet.

Back to the world she woos the light
 That died as summer's smile expires,
And all the fading woods grow bright
 With flashes from her altar fires;
Yet crowned and pale she walks apart,
 Lips moving in a mute caress,
And folds above her throbbing heart
 The mantle of her loneliness.

As sometime when the bloom has fled,
 The light that marked our summer gone,
When spring's best hopes are ripe or dead,
 And life's pale winter hurrying on,—
We stand at eventide aside,
 Wearing the robes we hoped to win,
And fold our lives in piteous pride,
 All fair without, all scarred within!