In the Still Voice of Autumn

Earth-tethers are fragile by moon-rippled water--

Contralto its music--In still melodies

Beauty is calling, "Oh, sing for me, daughter!"

The harp of the white birch is strummed by the breeze.

The harvest moon poised on the crest of the mountain--

Silent--composes a sonnet of night

Then dances to bathe in the scarlet rimmed fountain

With virgin star-maidens. I sing my delight!

With a song of fulfillment, I sail to an islet

To view my Bright Harvest beyond its far peaks.

With peace my companion and beauty my pilot

In the still voice of autumn Infinity speaks.