Classic Poem

I leave behind the crowded street,
The city's noise and stir,
And face to face with Nature meet, —
Her happy worshipper.

I walk the unfrequented road
With open eye and ear;
I watch afield the farmer load
The bounty of the year.

I filch the fruit of no man's toll,
No trespasser am I,
And yet I reap from every soil
And the unmeasured sky.

I gather where I did not sow,
And bind in mystic sheaf
The amber air, the river's flow,
The rustle of the leaf, —

The squirrels' chatter in the trees,
The sunlight sifted down,
The wholesome odors on the breeze
O'er ripened harvests blown, —

The hills in distance purple-hued,
The tinkling waterfall,
The " deep contentment of the wood,"
The peace o'erbrooding all.

The maples glow beside the streams
And fleck the pastures sear,
Like smiles that break from happy dreams, —
So smiles the waning year!

A beauty springtime never knew
Haunts all the quiet ways,
And sweeter shines the landscape through
Its veil of autumn haze.

The blessing of the early rain
And all the summer's shine
Are garnered in the golden grain
And purple of the vine.

What though the groves are silent all,
No bird within them sings,
Nor on the quiet meadows fall
Shadows from sunlit wings:

Yet is their summer music part
Of the still atmosphere, —
So Nature keeps by subtle art
To sight what pleased the ear.

And all my separate senses seem
To be but passive keys,
Whereon she plays her world-old theme
To wondrous harmonies.

I face the hills, the streams, the wood,
And feel with all akin;
I ope my heart, — their fortitude
And peace and joy flow in.

Like him of old on Horeb's mount
I take again my way,
New-strengthened from the healing fount
Of this October day.