BEAUTIFUL morning of light,
Cloudless grace of the sky,
Waters bathing the sight,
Birds with their minstrelsy
Singing the gladness of day,
Making the fugitive sweet,—
Till a red leaf drops at my feet,
And summer has vanished away !
The maple-tree swings in ether,
The ripples are washing the sand,
Winds give the waves a white feather,
And they fling them back to the land;
While the black ducks watch their play ;
But the crowding swallows we see
In the scarred old juniper-tree
Say, Summer is wearing away.
Shadows lie dark on the hillside,
Sunshine lies warm on the shore,
But the Golden-Rod waves in his pride
And the clover blooms no more ;
Gone are white blossoms of May,
Their robe is a purple leaf;
And the corn stands ripe in his sheaf,
For summer is gliding away.
Turbulent mornings of prime,
Joy of the first rude endeavor,
Dawn of a blossoming time,
Buds no October can sever !
The violet days are done,
But the lily flames in his strength,
And the calm of autumn at length
Shall be grand in the setting sun.

A. W.