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<h2>AN AUTUMN LANDSCAPE</h2> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> No wind there is that either pipes or moans; The fields are cold and still; the sky Is covered with a blue-gray sheet Of motionless cloud; and at my feet The river, curling softly by, Whispers and dimples round its quiet gray stones. </div> <div class="stanza"> Along the chill green slope that dips and heaves The road runs rough and silent, lined With plum-trees, misty and blue-gray, And poplars pallid as the day, In masses spectral, undefined, Pale greenish stems half hid in dry gray leaves. </div> <div class="stanza"> And on beside the river's sober edge A long fresh field lies black. Beyond, Low thickets gray and reddish stand,[40] Stroked white with birch; and near at hand, Over a little steel-smooth pond, Hang multitudes of thin and withering sedge. </div> <div class="stanza"> Across a waste and solitary rise A ploughman urges his dull team, A stooped gray figure with prone brow That plunges bending to the plough With strong, uneven steps. The stream Rings and re-echoes with his furious cries. </div> <div class="stanza"> Sometimes the lowing of a cow, long-drawn, Comes from far off; and crows in strings Pass on the upper silences. A flock of small gray goldfinches, Flown down with silvery twitterings, Rustle among the birch-cones and are gone. </div> <div class="stanza"> This day the season seems like one that heeds, With fixèd ear and lifted hand, All moods that yet are known on earth, All motions that have faintest birth, If haply she may understand The utmost inward sense of all her deeds. </div> </div> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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