***
Electric light illuminates
The honey skin of leaves,
In slight attacks of fever
The shadow of the moon
Stands still
In Scorpio.
Two fine eyes – the craters
Are burning in solitude
Below the cloud fringe
– the famous cumulus of Low Lands –
That fall over the moon’s forehead.
The silence obliges trees
To re-create within themselves
All lights and music
And thrills of nature
And blossoming together.
To thoroughly know autumn
And to judge it sanely
Is a great stride forward,
Toward happiness –
A virtue of the melancholy
Of yellowed pages
Which makes a
Smile of tenderness
Stray over the lips.
