 | Harvest of Thoughts |  |
7
LINES TO AUTUMN
Jack-frost has chilled the summer air
And kissed the flowing rill;
The vernal land-scape hue has gone,
From wood-land mead and hill.
And ev'ry rustle of the leaves,
And ev'ry sound we hear;
Seems but to say, from day to day,
That dreary autumn 's here.
Oh Autumn! Whither comest thou
To bind me with a spell?
A melancholy troubled state,
Would God that I could tell.
And kissed the flowing rill;
The vernal land-scape hue has gone,
From wood-land mead and hill.
And ev'ry rustle of the leaves,
And ev'ry sound we hear;
Seems but to say, from day to day,
That dreary autumn 's here.
Oh Autumn! Whither comest thou
To bind me with a spell?
A melancholy troubled state,
Would God that I could tell.
Some trees are clad in yellow robes,
And some bedecked in brown;
And some have donned a crimson cloak,
To awe the landscape 'round.
Our high hopes of the future,
Have come to naught at last;
Our brightest dream of springtime,
Have turned back to the past.
Oh autumn! whither comest thou,
To bind me with a spell?
A melancholy troubled state,
Would God that I could tell.
And some bedecked in brown;
And some have donned a crimson cloak,
To awe the landscape 'round.
Our high hopes of the future,
Have come to naught at last;
Our brightest dream of springtime,
Have turned back to the past.
Oh autumn! whither comest thou,
To bind me with a spell?
A melancholy troubled state,
Would God that I could tell.
8
Fleet hounds pursue the rabbit,
Through underbrush and dell;
The hills send back an echo,
Caused by their doleful yell;
High up among the giant oaks,
An echo pierce the sky;
From some old hawk in search of prey,
There comes a hideous cry.
Oh Autumn! Whither comest thou
To bind me with a spell?
A melancholy troubled state,
Would God that I could tell.
Through underbrush and dell;
The hills send back an echo,
Caused by their doleful yell;
High up among the giant oaks,
An echo pierce the sky;
From some old hawk in search of prey,
There comes a hideous cry.
Oh Autumn! Whither comest thou
To bind me with a spell?
A melancholy troubled state,
Would God that I could tell.
Song-birds, now flying southward,
Have sang their parting song;
Each one in flight is trying,
To head the pressing throng;
The crows have filled the wild-wood,
With sentinels around,
They feast on seeds and insects,
From off the fertile ground.
Oh Autumn! whither comest thou
To bind me with a spell?
A melancholy troubled state,
Would God that I could tell.
Have sang their parting song;
Each one in flight is trying,
To head the pressing throng;
The crows have filled the wild-wood,
With sentinels around,
They feast on seeds and insects,
From off the fertile ground.
Oh Autumn! whither comest thou
To bind me with a spell?
A melancholy troubled state,
Would God that I could tell.
9
I look upon the harvest, in rich abundance yield;
But still a spell of sadness,
Around my soul doth steal;
To know that once with beauty,
In youthful vigor spread;
Large fields of blooming clover,
And corn-fields—all are dead.
Oh Autumn! Whither comest thou,
To bind me with a spell?
A melancholy troubled state,
Would God that I could tell.
But still a spell of sadness,
Around my soul doth steal;
To know that once with beauty,
In youthful vigor spread;
Large fields of blooming clover,
And corn-fields—all are dead.
Oh Autumn! Whither comest thou,
To bind me with a spell?
A melancholy troubled state,
Would God that I could tell.
But still my soul feels dreary,
Although the sun doth shine,
He brings no balm like springtime
To heal this soul of mine;
And ofttimes how I wonder!
My outer self seems gay;
My inner soul far down within,
Each moment seems to say
Oh Autumn! Whither comest thou,
To bind me with a spell?
A melancholy troubled state,
Would God that I could tell.
Although the sun doth shine,
He brings no balm like springtime
To heal this soul of mine;
And ofttimes how I wonder!
My outer self seems gay;
My inner soul far down within,
Each moment seems to say
Oh Autumn! Whither comest thou,
To bind me with a spell?
A melancholy troubled state,
Would God that I could tell.
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