Explore "On the Hillside" by Francis Sherman on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
October's peace hath fallen on everything.
In the far west, above the pine-crowned hill, / With red and purple yet the heavens thrill -- / The passing of the sun remembering.
A crow sails by on heavy, flapping wing, / (In some land, surely the young Spring hath her will! ) / Below, the little city lieth still; / And on the river's breast the mist-wreaths cling.
Here, on this slope that yet hath known no plough, / The cattle wander homeward slowly now; / In shapeless clumps the ferns are brown and dead.
Among the fir-trees dusk is swiftly born; / The maples will be desolate by morn.
The last word of the summer hath been said.