There's new silk in the tree-top an' the coat o' horse

an' cow.

The woods are trimmed fer weddin's, an' are all

in Sunday clo's,

An' the bark upon the ven'son-tree is redder than

a rose.

The days are still an' smoky, an' the nights are

growin' cold,

The maples are a-drippin' blood, the beeches

drippin' gold;