After the red leaf and the gold have gone, br Brought down by the wind, then by hammering rain br Bruised and discolored, when October's flame br Goes blue to guttering in the cusp, this land br Sinks deeper into silence, darker into shade. br There is a knowledge in the look of things, br The old hills hunch before the north wind blows. br br Now I can see certain simplicities br In the darkening rust and tarnish of the time, br And say over the certain simplicities, br The running water and the standing stone, br The yellow haze of the willow and the black br Smoke of the elm, the silver, silent light br Where suddenly, readying toward nightfall, br The sumac's candelabrum darkly flames. br And I speak to you now with the land's voice, br It is the cold, wild land that says to you br A knowledge glimmers in the sleep of things: br The old hills hunch before the north wind blows.