Now comes the sunset of the verdant year, Chemic fires, still and slow, Burn in the leaves, till trees and groves appear Dipped in the sunset's glow. Through many-stained windows of the wood The day sends down its beams, Till all the acorn-punctured solitude Of sunshine softly dreams. I take my way where sentry cedars stand Along the bushy lane, And whitethroats stir and call on every hand, Or lift their wavering strain; The hazel-bush holds up its crinkled gold And scents the loitering breeze -- A nuptial wreath amid its leafage old That laughs at frost's decrees. A purple bloom is creeping o'er the ash -- Dull wine against the day, While dusky cedars wear a crimson sash Of woodbine's kindled spray. I see the stolid oak tree's smouldering fire Sullen against emerald rye; And yonder sugar maple's wild desire To match the sunset sky. On hedge and tree the bittersweet has hung Its fruit that looks like a flower; While alder spray with coral berries strung Is part of autumn's dower. The plaintive calls of bluebirds fill the air, Wandering voices in the morn; The ruby kinglet, flitting here and there, Winds against his elfin horn. Now Downy shyly drills his winter cell, His white chips strew the ground; While squirrels bark from hill or acorned dell -- A true autumnal sound. I hear the feathered thunder of the grouse Soft rolling through the wood, Or pause to note where hurrying mole or mouse Just stirs the solitude. Anon the furtive flock-call of the quail Comes up from weedy fields; Afar the mellow thud of lonely flail Its homely music yields. Behold the orchards piled with painted spheres New plucked from bending trees; And bronzed huskers tossing golden ears In genial sun and breeze. Once more the tranquil days brood o'er the hills, And soothe earth's toiling breast; A benediction all the landscape fills That breathes of peace and rest. |