O gentle quiet morning in October,
the leaves are ripe to fall;
wind tomorrow, if he has strength, to sweep away all
.
crows above the forest call;
maybe tomorrow they will go in flocks. O silent
mild morning of October;
slow starts the hours of the day.
Fa 'the day there seems less quick.
not sorry if you deceive us gently, in the illusions
so you know.
Detach a leaf at dawn, noon
off another leaf;
one from our trees, and another
far.
Hold the sun with gentle mist;
enchants campaign amethyst.
But slowly, slowly!
For love of the grape, if nothing else, whose tendrils
burn in the frost, which
clusters should be destroyed for the sake of grapes along the wall.
(R. Frost)
