The Glories of October 185 



to leave us, and linger with delight, while each 

 week prolongs a pleasure in what we know we 

 soon must lose. One watches October s beauty 

 with a love that is child of longing and parent of 

 loss. As the Sky Farm poet sang, years ago, 

 beholding her where 



&quot; In queenly state she rules her forest lands 

 Where maples light with flame the frosty air, &quot; 



so we feel moved to appeal to the forerunning 

 messengers of winter : 



&quot; Blow softly, wind ! one rude or reckless breath 

 Might take from out her hair its silken flow, 

 One dash of rain might drown those brave blue eyes 

 And drain from cheeks and lips their living glow.&quot; 



Now even yet, although her cheeks are paler 

 and her glories shred, there is beauty in the royal 

 figure, and her presence on the hills has not lost 

 its grace and dignity. It fills the brooding mists 

 of night, and the morning, that drifts those mists 

 away in light and wavering vapours up the moun 

 tain side, reveals her still in state. The wilding 

 fragrances of the late flowers, the withering ferns 

 and the fallen leaves are incense before her throne, 

 and among them all steals, mysteriously subtle 

 and enchanting, the unkinned magic of the witch 

 hazel, whose yellow wraiths of bloom spray on 

 the bare twigs, encircling the fruit of last year s 



