Poems (Howard)/Indian Summer
For works with similar titles, see Indian Summer.
Indian Summer.
Again that Unseen Hand hath wrought Brown, amber tints, and gory! And, lo! October woods have caught Their true autumnal glory!
A welcome, cordial and sincere, Awaits this tardy comer, The gem of each recurring year, Delightful Indian Summer!
A touch of frost upon the trees Has set them all a-glowing! On leaves, that dally in the breeze, Their matchless hues bestowing!
While mountain slopes reveal a scene Of undisputed splendor, Far brighter lies the vale between, In sunset raptures tender.
The faintest zephyr breath that stirs Fair nature's calm reposing, Provokes a shower of chestnut-burrs Their hidden wealth disclosing.
Where purple-clustered muscatels In dewy lanes are fragrant, The bumble-bee in ambush dwells, A loitering, idle vagrant!
A dreamy, atmospheric haze O'er hill and vale is lying, As, passing fair, the year displays Her "matchless charms"—in dying.
Thus beautiful, when touched by rime Of age, by God's disposing, Should life, like Indian Summer time, Be brightest in its closing.