The Hunter's Moon

Darkly October; Where the wild fowl fly,     Utters a harsh and melancholy cry;     And slowly closing, far a sunset door,     Day wildly glares upon.the world once more,     Where Twilight, with one star to lamp her by,     Walks with the Wind that haunts the hills and shore.     The Spirit of Autumn, with averted gaze,     Comes slowly down the ragged garden ways;     And where she walks she lays a finger cold     On rose and aster, lily and marigold,     And at her touch they turn, in mute amaze,     And bow their heads, assenting to the cold.     And all around rise phantoms of the flowers,     Scents, ghost-like, gliding from the dripping bowers;     And evermore vague, spectral voices ring     Of Something gone, or Something perishing:     Joy's requiem; hope's tolling of the Hours;     Love's dirge of dreams for Beauty sorrowing.     And now the moon above the garden side     Lifts a pale face and looks down misty-eyed,     As if she saw the ghost of yesteryear     That once with Happiness went wandering here     And the young Loveliness of days that died     Sitting with Memory 'mid the sad and sere.