FADED LEAVES.


 


THE hills are bright with maples yet;


But down the level land


The beeches rustle in the wind


As dry and brown as sand.


 


The clouds in bars of rusty red


Along the hill-tops glow,


And in the still, sharp air, the frost


Is like a dream of snow.


 


The berries of the brier-rose


Have lost their rounded pride;


The bitter-sweet chrysanthemums


Are dropping heavy-eyed.


 


The cricket grows more friendly now,


The dormouse sly and wise,


Hiding away in the disgrace


Of nature, from men's eyes.


 


The pigeons, in black, wavering lines,


Are swinging toward the sun;


And all the wide and withered fields


Proclaim the summer done.


 


His store of nuts and acorns now


The squirrel hasten to gain,


And sets his house in order for


The winter's dreary reign.


'T is time to light the evening fire,


To read good books, to sing


The low and lovely songs that breathe


Of the eternal spring.


 


 


Alice Cary.