BIRTHDAY OF AUTUMN.
Early awake this morn! my spirit shook
Drowsiness from its plumes before the birds;
And up beside my window with a book,
I strive to find a magic in the words.
But thought claims precedence; and with my eye
Playing to lore the truant, I look on
Village and field, and river, wood and sky
Just bright'ning with the first September sun.
Autumn has come again, the autumn-time
Ever so glorious in our lovely land;
And where is there a lovelier? What clime
Yields such a wealth of blessings to your hand?
But what I love in the autumnal days
Is their delicious dreaminess, that fills
The spirit with a mellow, golden haze
Like that throughout the atmosphere; one thrills,
If a leaf flutter on the wayside trees,
Or insect sudden wind its tiny horn,
Or if springs up anon the fitful breeze,
Scattering the leaves its idle force had torn.
There is a conscious bliss in every thing;
The very shadows deeper, cooler seem,
Making us wish that we aside could fling
Life's waking cares, and lay us down and dream.
The sun's rays grown less vertical, have now
The soft gold that the painters imitate;
And tones come whispered from each waving bough,
