Pebbles and Shells (Hawkes collection)/October
OCTOBER
October reigns o'er all the dreamy hills—
Awake my soul, and lift thy voice in praise,
And sing the glory of autumnal days,
And voice the gladness of the heart that thrills,
When to the brim the cup of nature fills.
Awake my soul, and lift thy voice in praise,
And sing the glory of autumnal days,
And voice the gladness of the heart that thrills,
When to the brim the cup of nature fills.
Each mountain range is wrapped in dreamy haze
And through the gentle veil the sun's bright rays
Are half subdued, and yet the power that chills
On vine and bush has set its seal in blood
And far and near the pennons of the wood
Stream like a conflagration to the sky;
Each blade and leaf, each tiny emerald thing
Unto the pyre has brought its offering
And laid it there amid the flames to die.
And through the gentle veil the sun's bright rays
Are half subdued, and yet the power that chills
On vine and bush has set its seal in blood
And far and near the pennons of the wood
Stream like a conflagration to the sky;
Each blade and leaf, each tiny emerald thing
Unto the pyre has brought its offering
And laid it there amid the flames to die.