<\/p>\nPoem in October<\/p>\n
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It was my thirtieth year to heaven<\/p>\n
Woke to my hearing from harbour and neighbour wood<\/p>\n
And the mussel pooled and the heron Priested shore<\/p>\n
The morning beckon<\/p>\n
With water praying and call of seagull and rook<\/p>\n
And the knock of sailing boats on the webbed wall<\/p>\n
Myself to set foot<\/p>\n
That second<\/p>\n
In the still sleeping town and set forth.<\/p>\n
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My birthday began with the water-<\/p>\n
Birds and the birds of the winged trees flying my name<\/p>\n
Above the farms and the white horses<\/p>\n
And I rose<\/p>\n
In a rainy autumn<\/p>\n
And walked abroad in shower of all my days<\/p>\n
High tide and the heron dived when I took the road<\/p>\n
Over the border<\/p>\n
And the gates<\/p>\n
Of the town closed as the town awoke.<\/p>\n
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A springful of larks in a rolling<\/p>\n
Cloud and the roadside bushes brimming with whistling<\/p>\n
Blackbirds and the sun of October<\/p>\n
Summery<\/p>\n
On the hill's shoulder,<\/p>\n
Here were fond climates and sweet singers suddenly<\/p>\n
Come in the morning where I wandered and listened<\/p>\n
To the rain wringing<\/p>\n
Wind blow cold<\/p>\n
In the wood faraway under me.<\/p>\n
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Pale rain over the dwindling harbour<\/p>\n
And over the sea wet church the size of a snail<\/p>\n
With its horns through mist and the castle<\/p>\n
Brown as owls<\/p>\n
But all the gardens<\/p>\n
Of spring and summer were blooming in the tall tales<\/p>\n
Beyond the border and under the lark full cloud.<\/p>\n
There could I marvel<\/p>\n
My birthday<\/p>\n
Away but the weather turned around.<\/p>\n
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It turned away from the blithe country<\/p>\n
And down the other air and the blue altered sky<\/p>\n
Streamed again a wonder of summer<\/p>\n
With apples<\/p>\n
Pears and red currants<\/p>\n
And I saw in the turning so clearly a child's<\/p>\n
Forgotten mornings when he walked with his mother<\/p>\n
Through the parables<\/p>\n
Of sunlight<\/p>\n
And the legends of the green chapels<\/p>\n
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And the twice told fields of infancy<\/p>\n
That his tears burned my cheeks and his heart moved in mine.<\/p>\n
These were the woods the river and the sea<\/p>\n
Where a boy<\/p>\n
In the listening<\/p>\n
Summertime of the dead whispered the truth of his joy<\/p>\n
To the trees and the stones and the fish in the tide.<\/p>\n
And the mystery<\/p>\n
Sang alive<\/p>\n
Still in the water and singing birds.<\/p>\n
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And there could I marvel my birthday<\/p>\n
Away but the weather turned around. And the true<\/p>\n
Joy of the long dead child sang burning<\/p>\n
In the sun.<\/p>\n
It was my thirtieth<\/p>\n
Year to heaven stood there then in the summer noon<\/p>\n
Though the town below lay leaved with October blood.<\/p>\n
O may my heart's truth<\/p>\n
Still be sung<\/p>\n
On this high hill in a year's turning.<\/p>\n
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