THE DEAD SUMMER.
In the forest, in the autumn,
’Neath the oaks, and ’neath the beeches,
Are the dead and dying children
Of the mother trees.
And the trees are sighing, moaning,
And the clouds are weeping, weeping
Tears of sorrow for the summer
That is dead, and gone.
E’en the sun his face has hidden
By a veil of clouds and shadows,
All the earth seems grieved and troubled
At the summer’s death.
But the earth has a new carpet,
Gorgeous with its brilliant colors.
For the autumn leaves have covered
And hid the sodden ground.