Classic Poem

Over October's fields what Spirit broods
With umber in her thoughts? The yarrow's rust,
The clover's and the vervain's cindered wealth,
The tattered turbans of the bergamot,
Sway languidly beneath her heavy word.

Whate'er she be, sombre, invisible,
Her might has spared one sweet, persistent thing
For me: Unwearied, faithful as of old,
Rich-winged vanessa yearns from lip to lip,
Kissing each desperate friend as if yet June
Made all a promise and a mystery!