THE RIVER PATH. 



There's a path beside the river, 

 Winding through the willow copse 



Where I love to walk in autumn 

 Ere the season's curtain drops. 



On far hillsides beech and maple, 

 Touched by earlv nipping frost. 



Have their brown and crimson jackets 

 To the boisterous breezes tossed. 



Still the willow leaves are clinging. 



Latest foliage of fall. 

 Shading yet my river pathway 



Underneath the osiers tall. 



On the wimpling water's surface 

 Drift a million truant leaves. 



Stolen from the woodland reaches 

 By the wind, the orince of thieves. 



All along the river edges 



Verdure's turned to brown and gray. 

 Rustling through the dying sedges 



Autumn's low voiced breezes play. 



Nowhere sweeter walk or rarer 

 Than my path beside the stream. 



There I love to stroll in autumn. 

 There to loiter and to dream. 



-Frank Farrington. 



188 



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