Early Autumn Days 



By George L. Hutchinson 



When the summer days are over, 



And the bees desert the clover, 

 When with golden-rod and aster vale and upland are a-bloom, 



Then, with Nature, 'tis a pleasure, 



To improve our humble leisure. 

 In her sylvan haunts to linger to imbibe some late perfume, — 



To behold some treasure glisten. 



And in peaceful thought to listen 

 To the sad prophetic voices of the season in decline ; 



For one feels the good of living 



In accordance with His giving, 

 While observing Nature's wisdom flow from Nature's God divine. 



Though have perished all the flowers 



That kept fragrant June's rich bowers, 

 Yet the landscape is made brighter by the early autumn rain ; 



While the days grow fresh and clearer, 



As the season's end draws nearer, 

 And the charm seems more consistent with the body and the brain. 



With their mellow fruit resplendent 



Are the orchards. The sun, pendent, — 

 Not unlike a golden jewel, — fills a setting very blue; 



While a dreamy mist is trailing 



Lake and river, — softly veiling, — 

 At the meeting of their waters, where the woodland shades the view. 



Wondrous bright are vale and fountain, 



Wondrous clear the distant mountain, 

 Ever gently with each other earth and heaven seem to vie ; 



Save where flocks of duck or plover. 



Startled by the gunner, hover 

 Like gray clouds above the marshes and bedim the lower sky. 



Now the rural tasks, in measure. 



Have become a sort of pleasure. 

 To get in the splendid harvest have the husbandmen begun; 



While the timid quail goes creeping 



Through the wavy rows of reaping. 

 Or among the fragrant rowan, where the mower^s task is done; 



Oft we hear a loud, sweet whistle 



From the stone-wall, edged with thistle, — 



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