THE FLOWERS 



Come, walk with me along the forest ways 



This autumn day. What peace is in the air! 



The world we look upon is wondrous fair. 

 The far-off hills are dim in purple haze, 

 And in the woods near by the maples' blaze 



Is like a ruddy bonfire. Here and there 



The golden-rod lifts up its torch in air, 

 And scarlet woodbine lights the woodland ways. 

 The birds sit silent by their empty nest; 



The air is drowsy with a spell of dreams, 



And as the leaves fall slowly, one by one, 

 We look away into a golden west, 



And while the year's pale twilight round her gleams, 

 Earth sits with folded hands, her work all done. 



Perhaps the most noticeable flower of fall is 

 the Golden-rod, because of its brilliancy and 

 the fact that it grows nearly everywhere. It 

 is the true cosmopolite among the flowers of 

 the western continent. It is " at home " wher- 

 ever its roots find an opportunity to strike into 

 the soil, and if the opportunity is not freely 

 offered it makes one for itself. It is in no 

 wise sensitive at the cold reception of its 

 friendly advances. On the bleak hills of New 

 England, along roadsides, and in pasture- 

 lands it lights its flaming torches with an 

 air in which cheerfulness and bravery are 

 mingled in a sort of defiance, as if it realized 

 that it must fight for existence and had brought 

 to the task an optimistic courage and a sturdy 



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