SWAN SONG 



OW fall the later rains, and shining through 

 their curtains, where they sweep along 

 valley and estuary, upland and great hill, 

 Autumn's many-coloured robes gleam under 

 a low sun. Observed through miles of moist air, the 

 purity of these transformations is strongly marked to 

 a colour-seeing eye. Over the beech there steals day 

 by day a sort of golden haze that brushes the gree-n. 

 It spreads from the veins into the texture of each leaf, 

 and deepens from gold to a ruddy copper hue. High 

 wind or pinch of frost brings the foliage to earth, and 

 then it lies in the snug hollows of the woods, and 

 spreads a rustling, russet carpet under the naked 

 trees. Such fallen leaves may be soaked and dried 

 again many times before each at last yields its tissue 

 to the elements. Paler splendour wakens in the larch 

 needles before they fall. They make lemon light 

 through the woodland — a clear radiance not less 

 lovely than their spring green. The elms break into 

 sudden flashes of yellow, where some branch takes full 

 livery of Autumn while yet the greater part of the 

 foliage is untouched. The maple flames like a fire, 



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