At dawn today the spider's web was cold
With dew heavy as silver to the sight,
Where, kicked and spun, with clear wings befouled,
Lay in the shrouds some victims of the night
This morning, too, as if they had decided,
A few first leaves came loose and drifted down
Still slopes of air; in silence they paraded
Their ominous detachment to the lawn.
How strange and slow the many apples ripened
And suddenly are red beneath the bough.
A master of our school has said this happened
'Quiet as gra** can ruminate a cow'.
And now the seeds go on their voyages,
Drifting, gliding, spinning in quiet storms
Obedient to the air's lightest laws;
And where they fall, a few will find their forms.
Now baby spiders, on their shining threads,
The middle air make glisten gold all day;
Sailing, as if the sun had blessed their roads,
Hundreds of miles, and sometimes out to sea.
This is the end of summer school, the change
Behind the green wall and the steady weather:
Something that turns upon a hidden hinge
Brings down the dead leaf and live seed together,
And of the strength that slowly warps the stars
To strange harbors, the learned pupil knows
How adamant the anvil, fierce the hearth
Where imperceptible summer turns the rose.