The Change

Gone bare the fields now, and the starlings gather, Whirr above stubble and soft changing hedges. Changed the season chord too, F major or minor, The gnats sing thin in clouds above the sedges. And there is nothing proud now, nor disconsolate Nothing youthful save where dark crocus flings Summer's last challenge toward Winter's merciless Cohort, for whom the robin alone sings. Fields for a while longer, then, O soul, A curtained room close shut against the rime - Where shall float Music, voice or violins Denial passionate of the frozen time