Today's poem is Thomas Hardy's "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 when 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.

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