October Maples, Portland

by Richard Wilbur


The leaves, though little time they have to live,

Were never so unfallen as today,

And seem to yield us through a rustled sieve

The very light from which time fell away.


A showered fire we thought forever lost

Redeems the air. Where friends in passing meet,

They parley in the tongues of Pentecost.

Gold ranks of temples flank the dazzled street.

It is light of maples, and will go;

But not before it washes eye and brain

With such a tincture, such a sanguine glow

As cannot fail to leave a lasting stain.


So Mary’s laundered mantle (in the tale

Which, like all pretty tales, may still be true),

Spread on the rosemary-bush, so drenched the pale

Slight blooms in its irradiated hue,


They could not choose but to return in blue.

Richard Wilbur

March 1, 1921 - ?


  • Born in New York City and grew up in North Caldwell, New Jersey
  • Fought in World War II
  • Good friends with Robert Frost
  • Has received two Pulitzer Prizes for Poetry
  • As of 2009 teaches at Amherst College
  • Known for his poetry, translations, and children's books

From Wikipedia:


Continuing the tradition of Robert Frost and W. H. Auden, Wilbur's poetry finds illumination in everyday experiences.

A Religious Poet

From 

Richard Wilbur:

A Critical Survey of His Career

by Dana Gioia

A practicing Episcopalian, Wilbur is America’s preeminent living Christian poet. No other author in this neglected field has written so much over so many years with such consistent distinction.
Wilbur characteristically uses the images, ideas, and ceremonies of the Christian faith to provide perspective on the secular world

From "October Maples"

A showered fire we thought forever lost
Redeems the air. Where friends in passing meet,
They parley in the tongues of Pentecost.
Gold ranks of temples flank the dazzled street.
Wilbur's best poems–like those of his mentor, Frost–often present a double structure.

Poem Structure

Rhyme

The leaves, though little time they have to live, A

Were never so unfallen as today, B

And seem to yield us through a rustled sieve A

The very light from which time fell away. B

Rhythm

iambic pentameter

The leaves, though little time they have to live,
The leaves, | though lit- | tle time | they have | to live,
Were never so unfallen as today,
Were ne- | ver so | unfall- | en as | today,
And seem to yield us through a rustled sieve
And seem | to yield | us through | a rust- | led sieve
The very light from which time fell away.
The ver- | y light | from which | time fell | away.

Poem Analysis

The leaves, though little time they have to live,

Were never so unfallen as today,

And seem to yield us through a rustled sieve

The very light from which time fell away.

A showered fire we thought forever lost

Redeems the air. Where friends in passing meet,

They parley in the tongues of Pentecost.

Gold ranks of temples flank the dazzled street.

It is a light of maples, and will go;

But not before it washes eye and brain

With such a tincture, such a sanguine glow

As cannot fail to leave a lasting stain.

So Mary’s laundered mantle (in the tale

Which, like all pretty tales, may still be true),

Spread on the rosemary-bush, so drenched the pale

Slight blooms in its irradiated hue,


They could not choose but to return in blue.

October Maples, Portland

By Timothy Krell

October Maples, Portland

An overview of the poem "October Maples, Portland" by Richard Wilbur.

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