<SPAN name="chap012"></SPAN>
<h3> OCTOBER GOES </h3>
<p class="poem">
October goes, and its colors all pass:<br/>
At dawn there's a silver film on the grass,<br/>
And the reeds are shining as pipes of glass,<br/></p>
<p class="poem">
But yesterweek where the cloud waves rolled<br/>
Down a wind-swept sky that was grey, and cold,<br/>
Sailed the hunter's moon,—a galleon of gold!<br/></p>
<p class="poem">
And now in the very depth of the night<br/>
It is just a little flame, blown and white,<br/>
Or a broken-winged moth on a weary flight.<br/></p>
<p class="poem">
But the steadfast trees at the forest rim,<br/>
And the pines in places scented and dim,<br/>
Still wait for one hunter, and watch for him.<br/></p>
<p class="poem">
And the wind in the branches whispers, "Why?"<br/>
And the yellow leaves that go rustling by,<br/>
Say only, "Remember," and sigh,—and sigh.<br/></p>
<br/><br/><br/>
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