 | Fantasy and Passion |  |
172
AN OCTOBER DAY.
The emergent sun looks forth on sparkling grass,
Filmed with the frost's pale gossamer of snow.
And now long resonant breezes wake and blow
The empurpled mists from meadow and morass.
The withering aster shivers; dry leaves pass;
Red sumachs burn; the yellowing birches glow;
And on the elastic air, in many a mass,
Rolling through pale-blue heaven, the great clouds go!
Filmed with the frost's pale gossamer of snow.
And now long resonant breezes wake and blow
The empurpled mists from meadow and morass.
The withering aster shivers; dry leaves pass;
Red sumachs burn; the yellowing birches glow;
And on the elastic air, in many a mass,
Rolling through pale-blue heaven, the great clouds go!
In the afternoon all windy sounds are still:
From wooded ways the cricket's chirp takes flight,
And the dreamy Autumn hours lapse on until ...
See! the sweet evening-star, that night by night
Drops luminous, like an ever-falling tear,
Down dying twilights of the dying year!
From wooded ways the cricket's chirp takes flight,
And the dreamy Autumn hours lapse on until ...
See! the sweet evening-star, that night by night
Drops luminous, like an ever-falling tear,
Down dying twilights of the dying year!
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