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the indian summer.
Gay witch-hazels in the river
Watch their own bright tapers quiver;
Flickering burn the birches yellow
Through the walnuts brown and mellow;
Dark, sad pines stand breathless by,
Mourners sole, and mourning that they cannot die
Watch their own bright tapers quiver;
Flickering burn the birches yellow
Through the walnuts brown and mellow;
Dark, sad pines stand breathless by,
Mourners sole, and mourning that they cannot die
Through the trees
Tolls the breeze.
Tolls, then rings a merry peal, and tolls again.
Dead leaves, shaken by the sound,
Slowly float and drop around.
So does memory lull or echo thoughts of pain.
Dead leaves lie upon earth's bosom,
Side by side with many a blossom;
Gentians, fringed with azure glory,—
Sky-flakes, dropped on meadows hoary;
Asters, thick and bright as sparks
Struck by seraph oarsmen from their starry barks
Tolls the breeze.
Tolls, then rings a merry peal, and tolls again.
Dead leaves, shaken by the sound,
Slowly float and drop around.
So does memory lull or echo thoughts of pain.
Dead leaves lie upon earth's bosom,
Side by side with many a blossom;
Gentians, fringed with azure glory,—
Sky-flakes, dropped on meadows hoary;
Asters, thick and bright as sparks
Struck by seraph oarsmen from their starry barks
O, to die
When the sky
Smiles behind the Indian Summer's hazy veil!
When the sky
Smiles behind the Indian Summer's hazy veil!
