It was late in mild October,
And the long autumnal rain
Had left the summer harvest fields
All green with grass again;
The first sharp frosts had fallen, 5
Leaving all the woodlands gay
With the hues of summer's rainbow
Or the meadow flowers of May.
Through a thin, dry mist, that morning,
The sun rose broad and red; 10
At first a rayless disk of fire,
He brightened as he sped;
Yet even his noontide glory
Fell chastened and subdued
On the cornfields and the orchards 15
And softly pictured wood.
And all that quiet afternoon,
Slow sloping to the night,
He wove with golden shuttle
The haze with yellow light;20
Slanting through the painted beeches,
He glorified the hill;
And beneath it pond and meadow
Lay brighter, greener still.
And shouting boys in woodland haunts 5
Caught glimpses of that sky,
Flecked by many-tinted leaves,
And laughed, they knew not why;
And schoolgirls, gay with aster flowers,
Beside the meadow brooks, 10
Mingled the glow of autumn
With the sunshine of sweet looks.
From spire and barn, looked westerly
The patient weathercocks;
But even the birches on the hill 15
Stood motionless as rocks.
No sound was in the woodlands
Save the squirrel's dropping shell,
And the yellow leaves among the boughs,
Low rustling as they fell. 20
The summer grains were harvested;
The stubble fields lay dry,
Where June winds rolled, in light and shade,
The pale-green waves of rye;
But still on gentle hill slopes, 25
In valleys fringed with wood,
Ungathered, bleaching in the sun,
The heavy corn crop stood.
Bent low by autumn's wind and rain,
Through husks that, dry and sere,
Unfolded from their ripened charge,
Shone out the yellow ear;
Beneath, the turnip lay concealed 5
In many a verdant fold,
And glistened in the slanting light
The pumpkin's sphere of gold.
There wrought the busy harvesters;
And many a creaking wain 10
Bore slowly to the long barn floor
Its load of husk and grain;
Till, broad and red as when he rose,
The sun sank down at last,
And like a merry guest's farewell, 15
The day in brightness passed.
And lo! as through the western pines,
On meadow, stream, and pond,
Flamed the red radiance of a sky,
Set all afire beyond, 20
Slowly o'er the eastern sea bluffs
A milder glory shone,
And the sunset and the moonrise
Were mingled into one!
—The Huskers.
1. What is Indian summer? Is this a description of an Indian summer day? Sketch the field described, or the sunset. Observe the color words in the last stanza.
2. What was happening in the woods on that October day? In the fields? Describe the scene in each.
GOLDENROD
By Elaine Goodale Eastman
Most of our wild flowers that blossom in the fall are of brilliant colors. In September the fields and fence rows are a blaze of reds, yellows, buffs, and browns. Conspicuous among these is the stately yellow plume of the goldenrod, strikingly described in the following poem. Read this selection slowly. Every line adds to the picture—every word means one more idea. Try to sense the entire meaning of the author.
(Used by special permission of the author.)