A Rattle of Bones

"When the leaves, by thousands thinned,

A thousand times have whirled in the wind,

And the moon, with hollow cheek,

Staring from her hollow height,

Consolation seems to seek

From the dim, reechoing night;

And the fog-streaks dead and white

Lie like ghosts of lost delight

O’er highest earth and lowest sky;

Then, Autumn, work thy witchery!"

 

Excerpt from "Incantation" —George Parsons Lathrop

Done