WHEN down the filmy lanes
The too wise sun goes grieving,
A wake of splendor leaving
Upbillowed from the ground;
When at the window-panes
The hooded chestnuts rattle,
And there is clash of battle
New England’s oaks around:
Oh, then we knights of weather,
We birds of sober feather,
Fill up the woods with revel
That summer’s pomp is slain;
And make a mighty shouting
For King October’s outing,
The Saracen October
Astride the hurricane!
When dappled butterflies
Have crept away to cover,
And one persistent plover
Is coaxing from the fen;
When apples show the skies
Their bubbly lush vermilion,
And from a rent pavilion
Laugh down on maids and men:
Oh, then we knights of weather,
We birds of sober feather,
Fill up the woods with revel
That summer’s pomp is slain;
And make a mighty shouting
For King October’s outing,
The Saracen October
Astride the hurricane!
When pricks the winy air;
When o’er the meadows clamber
Cloud-masonries of amber;
When brooks are silver-clear;
When conquering colors dare
The hills and cliffy places,
To hold, with braggart graces,
High wassail of the year:
Oh, then we knights of weather,
We birds of sober feather,
Fill up the woods with revel
That summer’s pomp is slain;
And make a mighty shouting
For King October’s outing,
The Saracen October
Astride the hurricane!