( " susan coolidge " )

The autumn seems to cry for thee,
Best lover of the autumn days!
Each scarlet-tipped and wine-red tree,
Each russet branch and branch of gold,
Gleams through its veil of shimmering haze,
And seeks thee as they sought of old:
For all the glory of their dress,
They wear a look of wistfulness.

In every wood I see thee stand,
The ruddy boughs above thy head,
And heaped in either slender hand

The Autumn-pallid sun looks down
Upon your face that keeps the brown
Of Summer; and the yellow hair
That sweeps your brow is palely lit,
And like a gold net cast to snare
My soul, as if to capture it.
The end is now!

In poignant passion breast to breast
We stand, my arms about you lest
You lose my meaning — you who know
How loth I am to let you go.
That I might hold you ever thus!
It is the last hour left to us;
The end is now!

The symbolled bondage that you wear
Upon your hand I may not share;

The Autumn day its course has run--the Autumn evening falls
Already risen the Autumn moon gleams quiet on these walls
And Twilight to my lonely house a silent guest is come
In mask of gloom through every room she passes dusk and dumb
Her veil is spread, her shadow shed o'er stair and chamber void
And now I feel her presence steal even to my lone fireside
Sit silent Nun--sit there and be
Comrade and Confidant to me.

Autumn colors trickle through the gauze curtains;
cold fragrance floats in, bit by bit.
The chirping of crickets rises from the dark walls;
fireflies flicker in the abandoned loom.
The bedroom fills with new moonlight;
frost on the bamboo screens —
she changes to warmer clothes.
The migrating goose, the wanderer —
both are gone, only one

Autumn, cloud blades on the horizon.
The west wind blows from ten thousand miles
Dawn, in the clear morning air,
Farmers busy after long rain
The desert trees shed their few green leaves
The mountain pears are tiny but ripe.
A Tartar flute plays by the city gate.
A single wild goose climbs into the void.

The auncient acquaintance, madam, betwen us twain,
The familiarite, the formar daliaunce,
Causith me that I can not myself refraine
But that I must write for my pleasaunt pastaunce:
Remembring your passing goodly countenaunce,
Your goodly port, your beuteous visage,
Ye may be countid comfort of all corage.

Of all your feturs favorable to make tru discripcion,
I am insufficient to make such enterprise;
For thus dare I say, without contradiccion,
That dame Melanippe was never half so wise:
Yet so it is that a rumer beginnith for to rise,

Part I
The auld wife sat at her ivied door,
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
A thing she had frequently done before;
And her spectacles lay on her apron'd knees.

The piper he piped on the hill-top high,
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
Till the cow said "I die,' and the goose ask'd "Why?'
And the dog said nothing, but search'd for fleas.

The farmer he strode through the square farmyard;
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
His last brew of ale was a trifle hard--
The connection of which with the plot one sees.

Auld Noah was at hame wi' them a',
The lion and the lamb,
Pair by pair they entered the Ark
And he took them as they cam.

If twa o' ilka beist there is
Into this room sud come,
Wad I cud welcome them like him,
And no' staun' gowpin' dumb!

Be chief wi' them and they wi' me
And a' wi' ane anither
As Noah and his couples were
There in the Ark thegither.

It's fain I'd mell wi' tiger and tit,
Wi' elephant and eel,
But noo-a-days e'en wi' ain's se
At hame it's hard to feel.

AULD Daddy D ARKNESS creeps frae his hole,
Black as a blackamoor, blin' as a mole;
Stir the fire till it lowes, let the bairnie sit,
Auld Daddy Darkness is no' wantit yet.

See him in the corners hidin' frae the licht,
See him at the window gloomin' at the nicht;
Turn up the gas licht, close the shutters a',
An' Auld Daddy Darkness will flee far awa'.

Awa' to hide the birdie within its cosy nest,
Awa' to hap the wee flooers on their mither's breast,
Awa' to loosen Gaffer Toil frae his daily ca',
For Auld Daddy Darkness is kindly to a'.

August, 'twas the twenty-fifth,
Seventeen hundred forty-six;
The Indians did in ambush lay,
Some very valiant men to slay,
The names of whom I'll not leave out.
Samuel Allen like a hero fout.
And though he was so brave and bold,
His face no more shall we behold.

Eleazar Hawks was killed outright,
Before he had time to fight, —
Before he did the Indians see,
Was shot and killed immediately.
Oliver Amsden he was slain,
Which caused his friends much grief and pain.
Simeon Amsden they found dead,