He hung upon every spray.
And blackbird and thrush chattered blithely in the copsewood, which gleamed with berries, and a thousand sparrows kept them company.
At night, it was quite still. The stag went into the meadow with noiseless steps and lifted his antlers and reconnoitred. The bird sat and slept somewhere with his head under his wing; the wind dared hardly whisper among the faded foliage. The stars twinkled far and peacefully.
Then the leaves fell.
And, as they broke from the branches and whirled through the air and fell to the ground, they sighed softly and filled the forest with strange, plaintive sounds. But none could hear them who had not seen his own hopes die.
But, next morning, those which were left gleamed brighter still and spread themselves and laughed in the sun, as if they had never amused themselves so well. The birch stood flirting on the moor; and the tiny little plants in the hedge sported their red leaves. The beech and the oak changed one thing or another in their dress each day, till they became more fantastic than ever. The falling leaves flew from tree to tree and remained lying there, till the whole at last became one great confusion.
But redder than the reddest blazed the Virginia creeper; and the crows made such a din every evening in the old, dead oak that you could not hear yourself speak. The thrushes chattered, the sparrows screamed, the wind ran from one to the other and puffed and panted to add to the fun. High up in the sky, the sun looked gently down upon it all.
And the Prince of Autumn nodded contentedly and let his motley cloak flap in the wind:
“I am the least important of the four seasons and am scarcely lord in my own land,” he said. “I serve two jealous masters and have to please them both. But my power extends so far, that I can give you a few glad days.”