Especially when the October
With frosty fingers punishes my hair,
Caught by the crabbing sun I walk on
And cast a shadow crab upon the land,
By the sea's side, hearing the noise of birds,
Hearing the raven cough in winter sticks,
My busy heart who shudders as she
Sheds the syllabic blood and drains her words.
Shut, too, in a tower of words,
I
On the horizon walking like the
The wordy shapes of women, and the
Of the star-gestured children in the park.
Some let me make you of the vowelled beeches,
Some of the oaken voices, from the
Of many a thorny shire tell you notes,
Some let me make you of the water's speeches.
Behind a pot of ferns the wagging
Tells me the hour's word, the neural
Flies on the shafted disk, declaims the
And tells the windy weather in the cock.
Some let me make you of the meadow's signs;
The signal grass that tells me all I
Breaks with the wormy winter through the eye.
Some let me tell you of the raven's sins.
Especially when the October wind(Some let me make you of autumnal spells,
The spider-tongued, and the loud hill of Wales)With fists of turnips punishes the land,
Some let me make you of the heartless words.
The heart is drained that, spelling in the
Of chemic blood, warned of the coming fury.
By the sea's side hear the dark-vowelled birds.
