名人诗歌|晚秋的情趣

The river-fog will do for privacy

on the low road a breath

here， there， a cloudiness floating on the black TOP

sunflower heads turned black and bowed

the seas of corn a stubble

the old routes flowing north， if not to freedom

no human figure now in sight

（with whom do you believe your lot is cast？）

only the functional^{1 figure of the scarecrow}

the cut corn， ground to shreds^{2， heaped in a shape}

like an Indian burial mound³

a haunted-looking， ordinary thing

The work of winter starts fermenting^{4 in my head}

how with the hands of a lover or a midwife

to hold back till the time is right

force nothing， be unforced

accept no giant miracles of growth

by counterfeit^{5 light}

trust roots， allow the days to shrink

give credence^{6 to these slender means}

wait without sadness and with grave impatience⁷

here in the north where winter has a meaning

where the heaped colors suddenly go ashen⁸

where nothing is promised

learn what an underground journey

has been， might have to be； speak in a winter code

let fog， sleet^{9， translate； wind， carry them.}