THE LOOM OF AUTUMN 1 89 



Autumn passed through the lowlands 

 many days ago, and set her tree-loom 

 by the mill house. All day long she 

 roves afield to fill her shuttle, and 

 weaves all night, so that the fabric 

 shifts and changes with every dawn. 

 When she first came the dodder tied 

 the bushes on the pond's edge in its 

 tangles, and the flame of the cardinal 

 flowers was creeping up the stalks 

 toward its extinguishment. The vari- 

 ous goldenrods filled the pastures and 

 tramped cheerfully along the roads, 

 thinning and looking dwarfed as they 

 swarmed in a broken phalanx over the 

 dry hills, then growing stout and ample 

 when they lined the outside of a gar- 

 den wall, waving gaily over the bar- 

 rier, and stretching underneath their 

 hungry roots. Surely Midas must have 

 left the underworld some day, and 

 strolled through Yankee lands, brush- 



