"All that mankind has done, thought, gained or been: it is lying as in magic preservation in the pages of books."
-Thomas Carlyle

by Daniel Morgan

Now when rides the vespers hour
With susurrus of leaves and shower,
The time is struck on our bell tower.
She will come; she's coming soon.

I'll see her figure by the hollow,
Smiling like an open gallow,
A child that thinks the moon must follow.
She will come; she's coming soon.

Unless I find I can't espy her
When half-absorbed in autumn fire,
She wears the cloak of lost desires.
She will come; she's coming soon.

Hastening in the evening dim,
Someone stalks with scarecrow limbs
Melancholy, he sung his hymn.
She will come; she's coming soon.

October's breath falls from above.
I heed him with my woolen gloves
And stare at travelers I do not love.
She will come; she's coming soon.

Past the walls where I've not gone,
The fields are marked with husks flushed tall.
Night is when barrow-wights call.
She will come; she's coming soon.

The gate's admitted all it will.
I cannot breath but think until
My love returns I'll love her still.
She will come, she's coming soon.