Autumn 



when the lanes are first lined with white- 

 flowered shrubs, and the air is heavy with 

 fragrance and alive with bird - voices. 

 Later, without one backward glance, I 

 abandon myself to the ripe, luscious beauty 

 of midsummer. And though, while tak- 

 ing my first fall walk the other day (for 

 the true fall is not here till well on in 

 September), and while noting how the 

 hills were veiled by a silvery mist, and 

 how the roadsides wore a many-hued 

 embroidery, and that the sumach in the 

 swamp was beginning to look like the 

 burning bush on Horeb, I felt that there 

 could be no beauty like this, which fore- 

 told the end ; yet already I realize that 

 before long the purple shadows will lie so 

 softly upon the snowy fields, and the 

 faint rose of dawn or twilight will flush 

 with such tenderness the white side of 

 the mountain, that the earth may seem 

 lovelier in her shroud than in any of her 

 living garments. 



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