Hallowe'en Birth

ALL night against the window
Ran sweet, impetuous rain;
And with the dark morning
Still streams the pane.

The thin gold grape-leaves
And black grapes cling,
While, soaring and descending,
The strong winds sing.

Will souls walk to-night
Over watery, strewn leaves?
Shall we hear them sighing
Amid the pale corn-sheaves?

O Wanderer, will you come,
Who are younger than they,
Chosen and desired ? —
For this is your day.

All souls will moan outside,
Fulfilling their long doom,
While you shall break importunate
Into our room.

Comes the early evening,
For you the fire is warm
On the four close walls
Against the threshing storm.

O child of golden leaves,
With rain-drops for your song,
Your nearing step is shy and still,
Mysteries among.

Here are three or four young cronies
Who know you well by name,
Who laugh and talk forever —
Oh, you’ll be glad you came!