PURPLE o’er the tree tops
Wild grapes sprawl;
In the golden silence
Few birds call;
Heavy laden Summer
Ripens toward the Fall.
Weary with the seed pods
Droop the hollyhocks;
Up and down the wide miles,
Corn in shocks;
Silent is the Wheat Mother,
And her merry flocks
Go no more a-marching
Unto fairy drums.
Hark! Is it the footfall
Of the One who comes?
Silence — save the dropping
Of the purple plums!
Patient, stricken Summer
Feels the Odic Fires,
Awful in her ripe domes,
Mystic in her spires.
In a holy sadness
Fruit the Spring desires.
Last of all the awe-moons,
Three times three,
Glimmers down the sun track
Slenderly —
Omen of the Wonder
Soon to be.
Does the darkness listen
For a shout of Doom?
Hist! Was it a thin voice
Crying from a womb?
Silence — save a dry leaf’s
Whisper down the gloom.
(John Gneisenau Neihardt)
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Based on Topics: Sadness Poems, Nature Poems, Spring Poems, Mothers Poems, Silence Poems, Curiosity Poems, Medicine & Medical PoemsBased on Keywords: slenderly, odic, a-marching