October Graveyard by Caroline Crosby Wilson

Here, where the decorous corpses lay,
With decent labels at the head,
Monotonous in green array,
A flaming mutiny has spread.
Where proper mourners knelt to pray
The dying dance upon the dead.

Yet the misshapen moon shall white
The scarlet to a silver shift,
And the late traveller’s throat grew tight
To see pale, tortured vapors lift,
And hear vague rustlings in the night,
Where ashen leaves descend and drift.