the indian summer.
115
THE INDIAN SUMMER.
TIS the time
When the chime
Of the seasons' choral band is ringing out.
Smoky brightness fills the air,
For the light winds everywhere
Censers full of flowery embers swing about.
There is sweetness that oppresses,
As a tender parting blesses;
There 's a softened glow of beauty,
As when Love is wreathing Duty;
There are melodies that seem
Weaving past and future into one fair dream.
When the chime
Of the seasons' choral band is ringing out.
Smoky brightness fills the air,
For the light winds everywhere
Censers full of flowery embers swing about.
There is sweetness that oppresses,
As a tender parting blesses;
There 's a softened glow of beauty,
As when Love is wreathing Duty;
There are melodies that seem
Weaving past and future into one fair dream.
To her bier
Comes the year
Not with weeping and distress, as mortals do;
But, to guide her way to it,
All the trees have torches lit;
Blazing red the maples shine the woodlands through;
Comes the year
Not with weeping and distress, as mortals do;
But, to guide her way to it,
All the trees have torches lit;
Blazing red the maples shine the woodlands through;
