Autumn.

    As a harvester, at dusk,
    Faring down some woody trail
    Leading homeward through the musk
    Of may-apple and pawpaw,
    Hazel-bush, and spice and haw, -
    So comes Autumn, swart and hale,
    Drooped of frame and slow of stride.
    But withal an air of pride
    Looming up in stature far
    Higher than his shoulders are;
    Weary both in arm and limb,
    Yet the wholesome heart of him
    Sheer at rest and satisfied.

    Greet him as with glee of drums
    And glad cymbals, as he comes!
    Robe him fair, O Rain and Shine.
    He the Emperor - the King -
    Royal lord of everything
    Sagging Plenty's granary floors
    And out-bulging all her doors;
    He the god of corn and wine,
    Honey, milk, and fruit and oil -
    Lord of feast, as lord of toil -
    Jocund host of yours and mine!

    Ho! the revel of his laugh! -
    Half is sound of winds, and half
    Roar of ruddy blazes drawn
    Up the throats of chimneys wide,
    Circling which, from side to side,
    Faces - lit as by the Dawn,
    With her highest tintings on
    Tip of nose, and cheek, and chin -
    Smile at some old fairy-tale
    Of enchanted lovers, in
    Silken gown and coat of mail,
    With a retinue of elves
    Merry as their very selves,
    Trooping ever, hand in hand,
    Down the dales of Wonderland.

    Then the glory of his song! -
    Lifting up his dreamy eyes -
    Singing haze across the skies;
    Singing clouds that trail along
    Towering tops of trees that seize
    Tufts of them to stanch the breeze;
    Singing slanted strands of rain
    In between the sky and earth,
    For the lyre to mate the mirth
    And the might of his refrain:
    Singing southward-flying birds
    Down to us, and afterwards
    Singing them to flight again;
    Singing blushes to the cheeks
    Of the leaves upon the trees -
    Singing on and changing these
    Into pallor, slowly wrought,
    Till the little, moaning creeks
    Bear them to their last farewell,
    As Elaine, the lovable,
    Was borne down to Lancelot. -
    Singing drip of tears, and then
    Drying them with smiles again.

    Singing apple, peach and grape,
    Into roundest, plumpest shape,
    Rosy ripeness to the face
    Of the pippin; and the grace
    Of the dainty stamin-tip
    To the huge bulk of the pear,
    Pendant in the green caress
    Of the leaves, and glowing through
    With the tawny laziness
    Of the gold that Ophir knew, -
    Haply, too, within its rind
    Such a cleft as bees may find,
    Bungling on it half aware.
    And wherein to see them sip
    Fancy lifts an oozy lip,
    And the singer's falter there.

    Sweet as swallows swimming through
    Eddyings of dusk and dew,
    Singing happy scenes of home
    Back to sight of eager eyes
    That have longed for them to come,
    Till their coming is surprise
    Uttered only by the rush
    Of quick tears and prayerful hush;
    Singing on, in clearer key,
    Hearty palms of you and me
    Into grasps that tingle still
    Rapturous, and ever will!
    Singing twank and twang of strings -
    Trill of flute and clarinet
    In a melody that rings
    Like the tunes we used to play,
    And our dreams are playing yet!
    Singing lovers, long astray,
    Each to each, and, sweeter things -
    Singing in their marriage-day,
    And a banquet holding all
    These delights for festival.