Explore "Indian Summer" by Madison Cawein on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
/ The dawn is a warp of fever, / The eve is a woof of fire; / And the month is a singing weaver / Weaving a red desire.
/ With stars Dawn dices with Even / For the rosy gold they heap / On the blue of the day's deep heaven, / On the black of the night's far deep.