To Autumn

By Daniel Leach

Old friend, it has been many miles and years
   Since your rich colors spread beneath my skies,
And only the faint ghost of them appears
   When I look deep with long-remembering eyes
      At these branches, never quite stripp’d and bare,
      Hinting at Winter, but never quite there,
For it is knowing that the end must come
   That makes those last, rich sunlit moments sweet,
When all is hushed but the last insect’s hum,
   And the soon-cloistered cardinal’s busy tweet.

Yes, soon the shroud of snow will cover all
   With lovely white of death which purifies,
And hushed and holy will the spaces, small
   Seem in those woods beneath gray-vaulted skies—
      But now my heart seems as if caught between
      The ache of what was even then unseen,
That spoke to me as if in whispered tones,
   And ever to the things of this world brings
That touch of sadness that we feel alone,
   When to a moment’s beauty the heart clings.

And now, with different eyes around I look,
   Upon this Southern echo of an Autumn scene,
The still full boughs that arch the silent brook
   In faint, hazy yellows and reds, serene;
      Yes, it is like a lost love’s memory—
      Sweeter in thought than it could ever be,
That somehow ever seems to move behind
   The things of this world like a fleeting ghost,
Yet, when all else has faded, in the mind
   Like haunting melodies, will echo most. 

Daniel Leach is a poet living in Houston, Texas. He has spent much of his life fighting for the ideals of classical culture and poetry. His volumes of verse, compiling over 20 years of composition are “Voices on the Wind” and “Places the Soul Goes.”