Explore "Late October" by Madison Cawein on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
/ Ah, haughty hills, sardonic solitudes, / What wizard touch hath, crowning you with gold, / Cast Tyrian purple o'er broad-shouldered woods, / And to your pride anointed empire sold / For wan traditioned death, whose misty moods / Shake each huge throne of quarried shadows cold?
/ Now where the agate-foliaged forests sleep, / Bleak briars are ruby-berried, and the brush / Flames -- when the winds armsful of motion heap / In wincing gusts upon it -- amber blush; / The beech an inner beryle breaks from deep / Encrusting topaz of a sullen flush.