Selections from the American Poets/Indian Summer
INDIAN SUMMER.
Light, as love's smiles, the silvery mist at morn Floats in loose flakes along the limpid river;The bluebird's notes, upon the soft breeze borne, As high in air she carols, faintly quiver:The weeping birch, like banners idly waving,Bends to the stream, its spicy branches laving; Beaded with dew the witch elm's tassels shiver;The timid rabbit from the furze is peeping,And from the springy spray the squirrel's gayly leaping.
I love thee, Autumn, for thy scenery, ere The blasts of winter chase the varied dyesThat gayly deck the slow-declining year; I love the splendour of thy sunset skies,The gorgeous hues that tinge each falling leaf,Lovely as Beauty's cheek, as woman's love too brief; I love the note of each wild bird that flies,As on the wind she pours her parting lay,And wings her loitering flight to summer climes away.
Oh, Nature! still I fondly turn to thee With feelings fresh as e'er my childhood's were;Though wild and passion-toss'd my youth may be, Towards thee I still the same devotion bear;To thee—to thee—though health and hope no moreLife's wasted verdure may to me restore— I still can, childlike, come as when in prayerI bow'd my head upon a mother's knee,And deem'd the world, like her, all truth and purity.