Late Autumn Days

I would not kindly stop for Fall;
Unkind Fall stopped not for me:
I sit and write beneath my wall,
The West Wind tickles through my tree.

Through the window I peek and find
Clotted clouds of cream, deep blue pools
They waft on, so high, so bright!-- Blind
Is she who admires not:  O Fools

Shut in, who stroll not in this gleam
Of gold and pale and hectic red:
Vision of Autumn, this gilded dream
So pale, so fleet, O too soon fled!

What recompense?-- a cup of tea,
Sandwiches, a matinee show:
Later, sit and read, some tv,
Thanksgiving plans, or dreams of snow.

Follies all!:  for what better schemes
To waste my hours, than through the leaves
To surge my heels, while my frosted head dreams
Up in the barren branches, gilt in twilight beams.