october

by William Morris 1834-1896

From The Earthly Paradise

October

O Love, turn from the unchanging sea, and gaze

Down these grey slopes upon the year grown old,

   A-dying mid the autumn-scented haze,

  That hangeth o’er the hollow in the wold,

  Where the wind-bitten ancient elms enfold

Grey church, long barn, orchard, and red-roofed stead,

   Wrought in dead days for men a long while dead.

Come down, O Love; may not our hands still meet,

    Since still we live today, forgetting June,

   Forgetting May, deeming October sweet-
-O hearken, hearken! through the afternoon,

The grey tower sings a strange old tinkling tune!

Sweet, sweet, and sad, the toiling year’s last breath,

       To satiate of life to strive with death.

      And we too- will it not be soft and kind,

 That rest from life, from patience and from pain;

  That rest from bliss we know not when we find;

That rest from Love which ne’er the end can gain?-

 Hark, how the tune swells, that erewhile did wane!

  Look up, love!- ah, cling close and never move!

      How can I have enough of life and love?