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Soothsayer

I walked about the garden in the evening,
And thought : How Autumn lingers—
Still a few gold chrysanthemums—
Still one late rose—
The old blackbird still has voice.

I walked back down the pathway,
The evening light lay gently on the orchard;
Then I saw a redness on the peach boughs,
And bulb-spears pushing upwards,
And heard the old blackbird whistle—
“Get ready. Get ready. Get ready.
Quick. Quick. Spring.”

So I cut down the last chrysanthemums,
Pulled up their stakes and piled them in the shed,
At hand to serve me soon for young delphiniums.