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Autumn strove hard to deck out the Holly's rough coat
With touches of yellow and red;
But the honest old hero her fair fingers smote
With his weapon-girt leaves till they bled;
And some drops that were caught on the berries he bore,
Gave the deep ruddy glow that they ever since wore.
The Ferns, too, are waving all statelily here,
With seed-stored fronds thickly laid;
And shedding, when hastily brushed by the deer,
Their light fertile dust o'er the glade.
Oh, beautiful—beautiful! stately, yet gay,
Is a deep forest-glen on a bright Autumn day!
Oh! look on the strange and the whimsical things
That among the wild fungi we find;
And lichens, and moss that like fairy-work springs,—
If ye love them not all, ye are blind;
Ye are blind unto Nature's most glorious looks,
If ye read not and love not her forest-born books.
Then welcome we Autumn, rich heiress of Spring,
Who fills our dear home-land with glee:
True, Winter is coming—yet still will we sing
Thrice welcome, gay Autumn, to thee!
And oft o'er the uplands our voices shall speak
Of Autumn's bright treasures and bonny brown cheek.
