October by Robert Frost
Here’s an October poem by that sly old fox, Robert Frost. The month of October is the mediator between the summer sun and the winter winds. In terms of the calendar, October is the boundary month, the magical month, neither hot nor cold. Spirits gather in the form of birds and leaves all through the month until they break out together on the last day (Halloween).
The poet is of two minds, befitting October, wishing for the warmth to remain for awhile, and retreating in anticipation of the cold wind of winter, with wine to warm him.
“Enchant the land with amethyst” The ancients wore amethyst around their necks to prevent drunkenness.
For the grapes’ sake along the wall.