So slowly deepening, often met their doom
When rich October caught November’s gloom.
He never lost his interest ... every Fall
He saw his grape-vines as he’d dreamed them, all
Weighed down with purple riches, growing tall
Over the stable windows. On the way
To the rose garden where he walked each day ...
“These grapes are riper than last year” he’d say.
In spite of all the travelling he’d done
He sought no changes now and thought “no sun