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No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace as I have seen in one autumnal face

For man, autumn is a time of harvest, of gathering together. For nature, it is a time of sowing, of scattering abroad.

O suns and skies and clouds of June, and flowers of June together. Ye cannot rival for one hour October's bright blue weather.

The smoke of frankincense earth transcends. On the charcoal campfire below its smokerise the steam from the pot of berry tea upcurls. These 3 streams entwine into trinity.... while from the windswept willowwoods upwings a wren.

Dry leaves upon the wall, Which flap like rustling wings and seek escape, A single frosted cluster on the grape Still hangs--and that is all.

When shrieked The bleak November winds, and smote the woods, And the brown fields were herbless, and the shades That met above the merry rivulet Were spoiled, I sought, I loved them still; they seemed Like old companions in adversity.

The dead leaves their rich mosaics Of olive and gold and brown Had laid on the rain-wet pavements, Through all the embowered town.

The brown leaves rustle down the forest glade, Where naked branches make a fitful shade, And the lost blooms of Autumn withered lie.

From gold to gray Our mild sweet day Of Indian summer fades too soon; But tenderly Above the sea Hangs, white and calm, the hunter's moon.

While Autumn, nodding o'er the yellow plain, Comes jovial on.

Yellow, mellow, ripened days. Sheltered in a golden coating O'er the dreamy, listless haze, White and dainty cloudlets floating; * * * * * Sweet and smiling are thy ways, Beauteous, golden Autumn days.