The October Series: Part 1 with Robert Frost

Frost's grave in Bennington, Vermont

A few times I have tried to make the ramblings in my head come out poetic.  Usually with little success, though.  The bug bites me every year about this time-since October is the best month on the calendar.  So instead of butchering the profession, I'll let the professionals take over for a few posts.  While my family was vacationing in Vermont this summer we stayed in Bennington and happened upon a fantastic, historic cemetery with a beautiful white church attached.  In it was the grave of probably my favorite poet (I know, not the Hoosier James Whitcomb Riley!) but Robert Frost.  Here is Frost's poem October.

October
by Robert Frost

O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow's wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
Tomorrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away.
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!
For the grapes' sake, if they were all,
Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost--
For the grapes' sake along the wall.