Frederick Philip Grove
The Dying Year
(MP 9)

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e-Edition by Gaby Divay
© August 2007

University of Manitoba Libraries	FPG & FrL Collections	University of Manitoba Archives

The Dying Year[47] by Frederick Philip Grove The yellow dunes fly up[48] with tousled poll They tremble, flutter, rear, and tumble o'er And break, as wave on wave along they roll, Where[49] black the woods rear up[50] their cliffy shore. A herald gallops, with his lowered stave On his pale charger[51] through[52] the frightened crowd His bugle yells, "Get ready for your grave! " My master comes; he trails a dismal shroud.[53] "Hang out the flags, gold, yellow, brown, and red "And loosely, mind you; strew a carpet soft![54] "Him who, too bold, refuses to be led "He will uproot and throw his limbs aloft. "You see the ships come sailing[55] through the air: "High in the west, his squadron battle-grey: "The hurricane, his pilot, steers him fair: "Bow down, bow deep, in fear: I must away." And organ-scherzi whistle wild and shrill, And[56] tattered leaves strain rustling to the last With which the Dying Year bedecks him still[57] As he in triumph rides into[58] the past. Miscellaneous Poems 9b