Dear Autumn girl, these helter-skelter days When mad leaf-argosies drive at my head, I try but fail to give you proper praise For the excitement you’ve created In my world: an islander at sea,
A girl with child, a fool, a simple king, Garrulous masters of true mockery – My hugest world becomes the littlest thing
Whenever you walk smiling through a room And your flung golden hair is still wet
Ready for September’s homaged rays; I see what is, I wonder what’s to come, I bless what you remember or forget And recognise the poverty of praise.
