7. The day becomes more solemn and serene
When noon is past: there is a harmony
In autumn, and a lustre in its sky,
Which through the summer is not heard nor seen.
As if it could not be, as if it had not been.
Thus let thy power, which like the truth
Of Nature on my passive youth
Descended, to my onward life supply
Its calm,—to one who worships thee,
And every form containing thee,
Whom, Spirit fair, the spells did bind
To fear himself, and love all humankind.
(verse 7 of Percy Bysshe Shelley’s Hymn to Intellectual Beauty)
We gaze these years when young
With some angled eye, tipping.
But see, this exquisite loveliness;
Our spring was a turmoil and summer
A hard sweat heap of exhaustion & strange open torn agonies—
And then comes the Autumn.
We lie down, where once we ran,
And the sky opens up above us.
I will stay here, breathing in, ever so quietly, waiting—
Watching these winds, watching the young
As they run
Waiting—for that is what autumn is
The realization of inevitabilites & a soft, shaky breath in, loving all
This tranquil fired beauty
Before you go.