Classic Poem

Faint music drifts among the Autumn boughs, —
Some one is coming far across the leas
Where haze makes dreamland of the fields, and bees
Murmur the livelong day. The wading cows
Move lazily along, or stop to browse;
The orchard, from its golden-fruited trees,
Spreads flickering shadows where the flocks, at ease,
Rest in the shade and indolently drowse.
And now, mid bronzing leaves, the silent jay
Finds his lost bugle and salutes the air
From tawny valleys rich with tented corn;
Slowly the splendor comes, as far away,
With grape-leaves wreathed in his sun-browned hair,
October, loitering, winds a phantom horn.