The Dead Writers Club was born out of the fact that there are very few living writers out there that are worth reading. (Naturally, this is because we all yearn to live in the past)
Do you consistently feel as though you are living in the wrong time period? We do too.
This blog is a celebration of literature and the greats who wrote before us.
O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
To-morrow’s wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
To-morrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow,
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know;
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away;
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!
For the grapes’ sake, if they were all,
Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost—
For the grapes’ sake along the wall.
-Robert Frost (1874- 1963)
Tags:
october
dead writer
robert frost
autumn
fall
season
leaves
poetry
poem
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