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.

October
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.

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