1 76 Walks in New England 



are ripenings ; like the flowers of the gardens 

 and the roadsides, the trees too bloom in one 

 triumphant burst of noble colour, to delight the 

 earth and the children of earth. This fall is seen 

 veritable death in the decay, the leaves, abandon 

 ing life when they should be emphasizing it in 

 gold and red and crimson, hang on the trees with 

 out a tinge of pride or sentiment, barren and 

 desert of life. 



WIND OF THE EAST 



Trouble the trees, 



Wind of the East ! 

 Stir up the seas, 



Churn them to yeast, 

 Wind that blows over the brine ! 

 Strong is thy voice, 



Rough is thy breath, 

 Ships are thy toys, 



Thou bearest death 

 Thou bearest life like wine ! 



Haste with thy train 

 Of tumultuous cloud ; 



Haste with the rain 



From the skies overbowed, 

 Lowering and longing to pour 



For the forest athirst 



