Another autumn poem, this time, D.H. Lawrence

     

Autumn Rain

D.H. Lawrence

    The plane leaves
    fall black and wet
    on the lawn;

    The cloud sheaves
    in heaven's fields set
    droop and are drawn

    in falling seeds of rain;
    the seed of heaven
    on my face

    falling - I hear again
    like echoes even
    that softly pace

    Heaven's muffled floor,
    the winds that tread
    out all the grain

    of tears, the store
    harvested
    in the sheaves of pain

    caught up aloft:
    the sheaves of dead
    men that are slain

    now winnowed soft
    on the floor of heaven;
    manna invisible

    of all the pain
    here to us given;
    finely divisible
    falling as rain.