Wisdom

CLEAN after rains is this October night,
Clear and ringing pure its frosty air,
An endless sky, deep-doming, blue, looms far
Beyond the near stars’ vast and shivered light;
Windy its voice that with a gusty might
Sings through the trees. The black branches are bare,
Save for one perfect leaf. That gust shall tear
It loose, this one surely! — The leaf clings tight.
I hear the dry leaves crackling underfoot,
Dusty fragrance I stir with every tread:
These are the wise ones, these the ones who said —
‘The game is up. The wind is here. And soot
Of autumn fires.’ So, daintily they put
Forth, their flight was pretty, and now — now they are dead!