THE LOOM OF AUTUMN 1 93 



In the meadows, lately shorn of 

 aftermath, the veins of moisture out- 

 line the old growth by fresh green rib- 

 bons. Springy roadsides and the banks 

 of quiet streams shelter the purple 

 closed gentian; they are mysterious 

 blossoms, wood-sphinxes, making the 

 silence deeper. Even the bees ap- 

 proach them noiselessly, and lighting 

 on the flower tip give a secret signal 

 for admission. Do forest treasons 

 incubate in those purple caves, and 

 brookside plots and wayside politics, 

 or do the sly bees only step sociably 

 in, to sample an extra brand of honey? 



The gentians come almost alone 

 among autumn's tribe of Composite; 

 the cardinal lobelia and turtle head 

 are fading when they appear. Back 

 from the shore where the little ridgy 

 hills bound the meadow, and unmown 

 strips teeming with bog-growth guard 



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