21
Seen in the light of the descending sunGlows like a monster fire; the cherry-treeIs dyed to richest crimson, and the oakBlends many a shade of yellow, green, and brown;While still the stately cedar-tree retainsIts garb of changeless verdure, to contrastWith the more gorgeous beauty of the rest.
Too soon the picture changes, and presentsBare, silent fields, and thick and chilling mists,And gloomy skies and long and driving rains,And narrowing days. Ah, yes! farewellTo all things summerlike, a long farewell!
Yet e'en this season hath its own dear joys,Now does the household hearth renew its charmsAnd restful days succeed to busy toil;And oh! the grandeur of the calm, clear night,Again we greet the half-forgotten gemsOf the fair heavens,—the sweet Pleiades,Orion bold and Sirius his train-bearer;And, though the chorus of the groves is hushed,The robin sings his solo at our door,And the chrysanthemums are bright and gay.
Oh, autumn! thou art very beautiful,And very drear! Thou hast so much of joy,So much too of regret! Yet, as we sigh,We hear thee whisper of a spring to be,A blessed spring of glory unalloyed,That shall not pass away.
