October Evening

Male-throated under the shallow sea-fog

Moaned a ship’s horn quivering the shorelong granite.

Coyotes toward the valley made answer,

Their little wolf-pads in the dead grass by the stream

Wet with the young season’s first rain,

Their jagged wail trespassing among the steep stars.

What stars? Aldebaran under the dove-leash

Pleiades. I thought, in an hour Orion will be risen,

Be glad for summer is dead and the sky

Turns over to darkness, good storms, few guests, glad rivers.