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letra de north wind in october by robert bridges - richard mitchley

in the golden glade the chestnuts are fallen all;
from the sered boughs of the oak the acorns fall:
the beech scatters her ruddy fire;
the lime hath stripped to the cold
and standeth naked above her yellow attire:
the larch thinneth her spire
to lay the ways of the wood with cloth of gold

out of the golden-green and white of the brake the fir-trees stand upright
in the forest of flame, and wave aloft
to the blue of heaven their blue-green tuftings soft

but swiftly in shuddering gloom the splendours fail
as the harrying north-wind beareth
a cloud of skirmishing hail
the grieved woodland to smite:
in a hurricane through the trees he teareth
raking the boughs and the leaves rending
and whistleth to the descending
blows of his icy flail
gold and snow he mixeth in spite
and whirleth afar; as away on his winnowing flight
he passeth, and all again for ahile is bright

- richard mitchley

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