Give me October’s meditative haze,
Its gossamer mornings, dewy-wimpled eves,
Dewy and fragrant, fragrant and secure,
The long slow sound of farmward-wending wains,
When homely Love sups quiet ‘mid his sheaves,
Sups ‘mid his sheaves, his sickle at his side,
And all is peace, peace and plump fruitfulness.