Autumn Woods (1918)
Poem By Thomas Sharp
Upon the woods at midnight broke the dread
Cavalry of the winds. The fell hosts tore
Through the embattled boughs with an uproar
Like spume of dragons roused from ocean-bed.
Then through the fury sounded overhead
The hissing of invisible blades that shore
Ten thousand leaves: stark on the woodland floor
Oncoming dawn revealed them piled red.
Streams the new day through boughs whose leafy pride
Scarce ray of sun could pierce or starlight keen:
Behold Heaven's glory through the shattered screen!
Red piled leaves, your leavening dust shall bide,
The rare mould of that Spring for which you died,
That unimaginable world of green.