A poem for autumn

O world, I cannot hold thee
close enough!

Thy winds,
thy wide grey skies!

Thy mists that roll and rise!

Thy woods, this autumn day,
that ache and sag

And all but cry with colour!
That gaunt crag

To crush! To lift the lean of
that black bluff!

World, World, I cannot get
thee close enough!

Long have I known a glory
in it all,

But never knew I this;

Here such a passion is

As stretcheth me apart.
Lord, I do fear

Thou’st made the world too
beautiful this year.

My soul is all but out of me,
let fall

No burning leaf; prithee,
let no bird call.


Edna St. Vincent Millay