  THE year is getting older, day by day; Last night I heard a fierce wind riding by, Rattling my western window, and no ray Of moon or star illumined the black sky. Older the year has grown; the wind that came Across the changing world last night to ride, Passed here a year ago; it is the same That rose before and summer’s strength defied. Ah, it is you, my old, familiar friend October, come to pitch your tents awhile, Madly descending from the earth’s far end Over the farthest seas for many a mile. Yet your fierce advent and your winds severe Are but the bluster of a friend we love; Though you are winter’s neighbor you bring here Rich gifts, and hang your bluest skies above. To-morrow you will tame your restless steeds And drive the water-freighted clouds away; Then you will scatter far the wild-flower’s seeds At intervals throughout a peaceful day. Still, though your skies may be the summer’s own, Of all your moods I like the wildest best; I love the wind and its mad, warring tone, Its anger, and its yearning and unrest; For in man’s soul there is an answering mood, A passionate storm with wind and driving rain All through a night—love by dull pain pursued, Then days when skies are kind and blue again,— Blue, but they shed their bitter, biting frost, And the sun burns with but a mocking heat, While ghost-like zephyrs seek for something lost, Like followers in the summer’s slow retreat. |
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