Classic Poem

With lurid torch October fired the woods;
Brief grew the days, and long and chill the nights;
The birds flew southward and their songs made glad
No more the hours. Then changed the maple's gold
To russet brown. November's step was heard
Along the leafstrewn ways, and, blown by winds
And drenched by autumn rains, October fled
Before her down the path where summer went:
So waned the year to later autumntide.