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lirik lagu richard mitchley - october by john jay chapman

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clear as the dew it kindles on the spray
across the shadows of each shelving lawn
the rising sun, with low and level ray
scatters the cold, gray phantoms of the dawn
like ghosts they flee, like dreams expire
within the elemental fire
of our first calm october day

a day all zenith; the enclosing air
like to the lens of a vast telescope
shows the enameled globe, which now doth wear
its gayest motley; every jutting slope
and quiet spire appears both far and near
seen through the splendor of the atmosphere

something elysian,—a faint tang of joy,—
breathes from the moisture of the open field
recalling spring, yet spring with no alloy
of heartache, such as hovers on the view
of things in promise. here is harvest~yield;
old earth hath done her best and can no further do

the yellowing pages of earth’s ledger lie
in new~cropped acres, open to the sky;
a text that all may understand
with margins where wild vines expand
in crimson revelry
beyond the valley lies a ledge
of rocky pasture and a tier
of hemlock and of juniper;
and close to the embattled edge,—
their roots embedded in the stony stairs,—
the agèd cedars flaunt their burning wares

like banners in a gallery
they hang above the bright ravine
where from the mountains to the sea
the farms and villages are seen
all clad in twinkling sheen

above our heads the mountain bleak
bears his cold summit to the view
as one in scorn of earthly mists
who, in his gesture, seems to seek
the silent depths of the transparent blue
where nought save light exists
there penetrates
nor sight nor mutter from the world below
nor sound of joy or woe;
for that clear realm is deaf to man’s debates
there nought save contemplation ever came;
for reason is extinguished by the glow
and passion dies within its parent flame
rays of religion, shafts of power
from that eternal upper day
descend on man, the creature of an hour
and whirl him as a leaf is whirled away
born to phantasmal contest, he survives
a moment merely; yet the fray
the whirlwind, seizes other lives
and, raging like a mountain fire
burns on with inextinguishable ire

here, here, from this ærial zone
flows all the force the world has known
all insight and all sight
the substance of all just resolves
solid and pure;
the rest is lightning, here is light:
and when the varied earth dissolves
this shall endure

but see! above the sinking sun
the angel of the west
has set his star against the mountain’s breast:
october’s day is done
the shadows mount, the twilight clear
shows all of autumn’s mellow husk
where one belated teamster in the dusk
circles the plain, like a dark charioteer
who scatters secretly the gleaming seeds
and drives his mystic steeds
before the tread of the pursuing year


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