Indian Summer
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.
In its pale fire
The village spire
Shows like the zodiac's spectral lance:
The painted walls
Whereon it falls
Transfigured stand in marble trance.
—John Greenleaf Whittier.