AUTUMN. 

 Edward Bamford Heaton. 

 There is a cadence in the whispering woods, 

 ' Tiutings innumerable midst fading green; 

 As if sweet Nature nourished many moods, 



Glad on the hills, pensive in vales between. 

 Sooth, loth is she to change the summer sheen 

 For all the dyes which Autumn's fingers lay 

 On wood and prairie, deep'ning with each day. 



Softly Zephyrus waves the aster's crown. 



The fringed Gentian drops her cup of blue ; 

 Aloft floats lazily the milkweed's down. 



Floats on and on, we wonder as we view. 

 And long with it to float to landscapes new 



Where hills in mist and languorous valleys lie 

 Mysterious, past the curtains of the sky. 

 The grove is silent, save for garrulous jay, 



Or the hoarse croak of slowly flapping crow, 

 Or merry chatter where the chipmunks play, 



And on the prostrate log chase to and fro. 

 No more the forest aisles a song shall know. 



Until that morn, when from his hills divine. 

 Clad with fresh beams, Spring's mounting sun shall shine. 

 The year is halting; See! his face is old ! 



Scant grow the leafy honors of his head; 

 Gone is that jocund look, that frontage bold. 



Which Spring and Summer on his features shed; 

 For he on nectar and ambrosia fed — 



Nourished by bees and steeped in honey dew 

 He wotted not of Time, how swift he flew. 

 Within the copsed-fringed openings of the wood 



The wind the brown nuts strew along the ground; 

 Glad youths with laughter rouse the solitude. 



And fill the welkin with a merry sound. 

 In Autumn's hands the season's wealth is found. 



Huge pippins and the russet's golden glow 

 And all the sweetness which the months bestow. 

 The breaths of night have bleached the maize-filled plain. 



Ricks, clover-scented, shapely, fill the scene; 

 The threshing floors are full of golden grain 



From the deep bays the mighty beams between; 

 Gathered where turtle-doves the stubble glean, 



Where whistling quails salute the hazy noon, 

 And soft-winged owlets sport beneath the moon. 

 Yet oft there comes from the inclement north 



Breathings which startle, thoughts that fill the eyes 

 With apprehension, for there stalketh forth 



Snow landscapes, sheeted hills, and drifting skies. 

 And mountains bound, and forests in disguise, 



And cattle shivering in wintry shed. 

 And the whole world lying stalk and dead. 



