Autumn.
A Poem in October.
It was my thirtieth year to heaven
Woke to my hearing from harbour and neighbour wood
And mussel polled and the heron
Priested shore
The morning becon
With water praying and call of seagull and rook
And the knock of sailing boats on the net webbed wall
Myself to set foot
That second
In the sleeping town and set forth.
My birthday began wind the water-
Birds and the birds of the winged tress flying my name
Above the farms and the white horses
And I rose
In rainy Autumn
And walked abroad in a shower of all my days.
High tide and the heron dived when I took the road
Over the border and the gates
Of the town closed as the town a woke.
A springful of larks in a rolling
Cloud and roadside bushes brimming with whistling
Blackbirds and the sun of October
Summery
On the hill’s shoulder,
He were found climates and sweet singers suddenly
Come in the morning where I wandered and listened
To the rain wringing
wind blow cold
In the wood faraway under me.
Pale rain over the dwindling harbour
And over the sea wet church the size of a snail
With it’s horns through mist and the castle
Brown as owls.
- Dylan Thomas
