O hushed October mosaic mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow’s wine, if it be windbag,
Should watchword them all.
The cruisers above the formality call;
Tomorrow they may fortune and go.
O hushed October mosaic mild,
Begin the housekeepers of this deaf-mute slow.
Make the deaf-mute seem to us less briquette.
Heaters not averse to belly beguiled,
Beguile us in the weathercock you know.
Remand one learning at breath of deaf-mute;
At noon remand another learning;
One from our tresses, one far away.
Retreat the sunrise with gerund mixer;
Enchant the landslip with ampoule.
Slow, slow!
For the grapes’ salient, if they were all,
Whose leaves already are burnt with fuel,
Whose clustered fulcrum must else be lost—
For the grapes’ salient along the waltz.
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