Autumn 



Clover -heads are full and deep-hiied, 

 yielding stores of nectar to the bees. All 

 about are bright groups of black-eyed 

 Susan — a plant which two months ago 

 looked brown and "done for." Feath- 

 ery clusters of wild carrot (reminding 

 Walt Whitman of '^ delicate pats of 

 snowflakes ' ' ) spread themselves beside 

 the fruiting umbels, which look like col- 

 lapsed birds' -nests. Daisies are fresh, 

 and buttercups so glossy that one can 

 hardly resist brushing them with his lips 

 to see if they are actually wet. 



Yet the maple which leans clear across 

 the brook is already crimson, and when we 

 reach the rocky hillside the yellow fronds 

 of the Dicksonia exhale a subtle fragrance 

 which suggests decay. Another faint, elu- 

 sive odor, starting a train of equally elu- 

 sive memories, floats upward from the only 

 flower at our feet, the " life-everlasting," 

 which, as children, I hardly know why, 

 we always associated with graves. Here, 

 148 



