Explore "The End of Summer" by Madison Cawein on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
/ Pods the poppies, and slim spires of pods / The hollyhocks; the balsam's pearly bredes / Of rose-stained snow are little sacs of seeds / Collapsing at a touch: the lote, that sods / The pond with green, has changed its flowers to rods / And discs of vesicles; and all the weeds, / Around the sleepy water and its reeds, / Are one white smoke of seeded silk that nods. / Summer is dead, ay me! sweet Summer's dead! / The sunset clouds have built her funeral pyre, / Through which, e'en now, runs subterranean fire: / While from the east, as from a garden bed, / Mist-vined, the Dusk lifts her broad moon -- like some / Great golden melon -- saying, "Fall has come. "