The misty clematis lay white;
The woodbine from the cedar’s height,
The sumach’s crimson cones, the breath
That amber hickories yield in death—
All were the same. October rare
Held sway divine o’er earth and air.
The horseman’s port was kingly—yet
My lips unwrung, my eyes unwet,
My heart recoils in cold despair
At memory of that granted prayer.