Poems (Dodd)/Autumn
For works with similar titles, see Autumn.
AUTUMN.
Now the pale spirit of decay Walks forth among the fragrant flowers,The hills grow brown, and summer gives Place to the saddening Autumn hours.
Instead of many a warbler's strain, Is heard, the fading groves among,The rustle of the falling leaves, The cricket's sad and solemn song.
Pale grows the sunlight in the vales; While deepening shadows dim the sky,And the blue hills, in misty shroud, Hide their shorn glories from the eye.
The passing of the summer days, The wreck of all her pride I mourn;Her roses trailing in the dust, Her brightness and her beauty gone.
Still, summer, I could bid farewell To thee, and keep a cheerful heart,If with thy sunshine and thy flowers, No other blessings might depart.
But, season fair, amid thy bloom, Death with his arrows walks abroad,Taking dear treasures from the earth, To the bright gardens of our God.
And graves are made in verdant vales, Which of thy sunlight share a part,And green are kept by saddest tears, Gushing like life-drops from the heart.
From all the glory of the scene, Affection veils her tearful face,And asks for those whose vanished smiles Made sunshine in the darkest place.
And often when the brightest skies Look down upon the fairest flowers;When life and beauty, love and hope, Circle and crown the fleeting hours;
My sad eyes fill with sudden tears, From light and joy I turn away,The shadow of some coming ill, Seems darkening round me day by day.
Two summer suns have come and waned, Calling the blossoms into birth,Since death first snapped the golden chain, Which bound my love to things of earth.
And still the influence of that hour, Comes with the season's ripened bloom,Like a dark night-cloud o'er the stars, Folding my spirit in its gloom.
With palms pressed o'er my aching eyes, I shun the golden glare of day,Till the sweet voices of the past, Beguile me from my grief away.
Again a grave has summer made; From home and loved ones far apart;To take the young, the early called, Who shared a place within my heart.
Sweetly thou sleepest far away; Thy place of rest I may not see;But in the waning summer time, My thoughts will often turn to thee.
Father, bless thou the suffering hearts Who lay their hope within the grave;From doubt, from darkness and despair, Oh, let thy love be strong to save!
The smiling season of the year, When winter's chilling storms are o'er,Shall come again with light and bloom; But those we mourn return no more.
In the sweet summer's sunny days, No longer may they share a partBut then their graves shall greener be, And fresh their memory in the heart.