Autumn Blue Mist by Hilda Conkling This is night's own trailing wind That goes by in blue mist When morning wakes. This is not smoke from chimneys, No fire breathes and puffs it out Across the sun. This is autumn on an October morning . . . Early hills, Fields in a veil. Find Related Poems Fall Poems Morning Poems October Poems
Autumn Blue Mist by Hilda Conkling This is night's own trailing wind That goes by in blue mist When morning wakes. This is not smoke from chimneys, No fire breathes and puffs it out Across the sun. This is autumn on an October morning . . . Early hills, Fields in a veil.
