Classic Poem

The last sweet blush of summer in her glory
Still lingers in October woods and skies,
But changed in forests, hills and mountains hoary,
From green unto a thousand brilliant dyes.

The cloudless skies a restful peace betoken,
The Indian summer broodeth over all,
In earth and everywhere is plainly spoken
A placidness which only comes with fall.

In fields where to the breeze was lately swaying,
The wheat in all its golden beauty seen,
Are flocks and herds of lazy cattle straying,
And feeding on a second growth of green.

A bee is seen still out in hope of finding,
A blossom in the second growth of clover,
But nature's law too on the bee is binding,
His harvesting will also soon be over.

A few more days of autumn's hazy gleaming,
And all October woods to-day so fair,
The very imagery of death in seeming
Will stand dismantled, naked, bare.

O, who would think that all this beauty painted,
Upon these leaves in colors clear,
In every brilliant hue with death is tainted,
But for the dying lesson year by year.

That lesson let me learn to-day in earnest,
Which thou dost teach in every hue and dye,
Who knows but when thy glory here returnest,
Within the silent grave my head shall lie.

Farewell, October woods — soon bleak December
Will all the forest wrap in spotless snow,
But I, forgetting not, shall still remember,
Thy glory which to-day delights me so.