Autumn
Written in childhood, in a maple grove [15]
Quickly earth's jewels disappear;
The turf, whereon I tread,
Ere autumn blanch another year,
May rest above my head.
Touched by the finger of decay [20]
Is every earthly love;
For joy, to shun my weary way,
Is registered above.
The languid brooklets yield their sighs,
A requiem o'er the tomb [25]
Of sunny days and cloudless skies,
Enhancing autumn's gloom.
The wild winds mutter, howl, and moan, [1]
To scare my woodland walk,
And frightened fancy flees, to roam
Where ghosts and goblins stalk.
The cricket's sharp, discordant scream [5]
Fills mortal sense with dread;
More sorrowful it scarce could seem;
It voices beauty fled.
Yet here, upon this faded sod,—
O happy hours and fleet,— [10]
When songsters' matin hymns to God
Are poured in strains so sweet,
My heart unbidden joins rehearse;
I hope it's better made,
When mingling with the universe, [15]
Beneath the maple's shade.