IN AUTUMN
How strange it seems, in Life's cool autumn days,
To visit once again the altar where
Youth's dreams were burned, as cruelly Despair
His torch applied before our frenzied gaze!
How strange the touch, as we the ashes raise
In gloveless hands, and with caressing care
Sift them back to their mem'ry-measured place!
How tenderly the heart its off'ring lays
Upon the scorch-stained stone—its offering
Of gathered tears! How it lives o'er that scene
In each small detail, as 'neath brassy skies,
It sees the fire spread wide its smoky wing,
To bear beyond all reach what might have been
Had dreams escaped the glance of waking eyes!
To visit once again the altar where
Youth's dreams were burned, as cruelly Despair
His torch applied before our frenzied gaze!
How strange the touch, as we the ashes raise
In gloveless hands, and with caressing care
Sift them back to their mem'ry-measured place!
How tenderly the heart its off'ring lays
Upon the scorch-stained stone—its offering
Of gathered tears! How it lives o'er that scene
In each small detail, as 'neath brassy skies,
It sees the fire spread wide its smoky wing,
To bear beyond all reach what might have been
Had dreams escaped the glance of waking eyes!
AUTUMN
Clang! clang! clang! Loudly ring Fall's windy ells—
The Year's afire! Aflame the woods and dells
On Summer's summit, where the fire-storm broke,
Are gardens smoldering in tinted smoke!
The Year's afire! Aflame the woods and dells
On Summer's summit, where the fire-storm broke,
Are gardens smoldering in tinted smoke!
Nature doth fight the surface fire in vain—
Yet all the Year's best treasures hidden are
In little vaults, which Earth shall ope again
When Autumn's heirs arrive from days afar.
Yet all the Year's best treasures hidden are
In little vaults, which Earth shall ope again
When Autumn's heirs arrive from days afar.
But listen! Hear we not the rush of rain
As Heaven starts its engine from the clouds;
Nor yet Nature, aweary, sob with pain
As bands of white her shrivelled face enshrouds?
As Heaven starts its engine from the clouds;
Nor yet Nature, aweary, sob with pain
As bands of white her shrivelled face enshrouds?
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