IN AUTUMN.
253
The mellow days! the mellow days!
The brown seed ripens and bursts the pod;
The brown seed ripens, the stem decays,
The black root rotting under the sod.
The lattice o'er-straggled by faded vines
Leans to its fall,
And here and there by the garden wall
And beside the late-neglected walks,
Amid blackened weeds and mouldering stalks
Where the fly in his mail of emerald shines,
Flowers of garish beauty bloom
Like torches that flare at the mouth of a tomb.
Phantom of summer, silver fair,
Peacefully restless through the air
With the unseen currents that softly flow
Drifts the thistle-down to and fro.
The brown seed ripens and bursts the pod;
The brown seed ripens, the stem decays,
The black root rotting under the sod.
The lattice o'er-straggled by faded vines
Leans to its fall,
And here and there by the garden wall
And beside the late-neglected walks,
Amid blackened weeds and mouldering stalks
Where the fly in his mail of emerald shines,
Flowers of garish beauty bloom
Like torches that flare at the mouth of a tomb.
Phantom of summer, silver fair,
Peacefully restless through the air
With the unseen currents that softly flow
Drifts the thistle-down to and fro.
The yellow days! the yellow days!
Fields of stubble and naked ways!
The year's last gold
On the uttermost bough
Flutters mournfully now!
The sumach that burned like the bush of old
Is almost stripped of its fire;
And trampled out by the rains that beat
The sodden paths with their million feet
The last bright hues expire!
Fields of stubble and naked ways!
The year's last gold
On the uttermost bough
Flutters mournfully now!
The sumach that burned like the bush of old
Is almost stripped of its fire;
And trampled out by the rains that beat
The sodden paths with their million feet
The last bright hues expire!
