Robert Frost

(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963 / San Francisco)

October - Poem by Robert Frost

O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow's wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
Tomorrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away.
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!
For the grapes' sake, if the were all,
Whose elaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost—
For the grapes' sake along the all.


Comments about October by Robert Frost

  • Veteran Poet - 1,091 Points Mark Arvizu (3/31/2015 9:15:00 AM)

    To where do the crows call us? Where are the leaves going? (Report) Reply

    2 person liked.
    3 person did not like.
  • Freshman - 517 Points Stephen W (7/5/2013 2:57:00 PM)

    Thanks to Sunprincess for formatting it correctly. (Report) Reply

  • Gold Star - 14,840 Points * Sunprincess * (11/2/2012 11:45:00 PM)

    For me the poem reads better in this format..

    October
    October
    By Robert Frost 1874–1963 Robert Frost
    O hushed October morning mild,
    Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
    Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild,
    Should waste them all.
    The crows above the forest call;
    Tomorrow they may form and go.
    O hushed October morning mild,
    Begin the hours of this day slow.
    Make the day seem to us less brief.
    Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
    Beguile us in the way you know.
    Release one leaf at break of day;
    At noon release another leaf;
    One from our trees, one far away.
    Retard the sun with gentle mist;
    Enchant the land with amethyst.
    Slow, slow!
    For the grapes’ sake, if they were all,
    Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,
    Whose clustered fruit must else be lost—
    For the grapes’ sake along the wall. (Report) Reply

Read all 3 comments »



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Read poems about / on: october, lost, wind, sun, tree



Poem Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003

Poem Edited: Tuesday, December 2, 2014


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