AUTUMNALIA.
The crimson color lays
As bright as beauty's blush along the West;
And a warm golden haze,
Promising sheafs of ripe Autumnal days
To crown the old year's crest.
Hangs in mid air, a half-pellucid maze,
Through which the sun at set,
Grown round and rosy, looks with Bacchian blush,
For an old wine-god meet—
Whose brows are dripping with the grape-blood sweet,
As if his southern flush
Rejoiced him, in his northern-zone retreat.
The amber-colored air
Musical is with hum of tiny things
Held idly, struggling there,
As if the golden mist entangled were
About the viewless wings,
That beat out music on their gilded snare.
If but a leaf, all gay
With Autumn's gorgeous coloring, doth fall,
Along its fluttering way
A shrill alarum wakes a sharp dismay,
And, answering to the call,
The insect chorus swells and dies away
With a fine piping noise.
As if some younger singing notes cried out,
As do mischievous boys—
Startling their playmates with a pained voice,
Or sudden thrilling shout,
Followed by laughters, full of little joys.
