Last Week in October

The trees are undressing, and fling in many places -

On the gray road, the roof, the window-sill -

Their radiant robes, and ribbons, and yellow laces;

A leaf each second so is flung at will,

Here, there, another and another, still and still.

A spider's web has caught one while downcoming,

That stays there dangling while the rest pass on;

Like a suspended criminal hangs he, mumming

In golden garb, while one yet green, high yon,

Trembles, as fearing such a fate for himself anon.

- Thomas Hardy