Rhymes of the Rockies

by James W. Whilt

WHEN THE LEAVES COMMENCE TO FALL

When the days commence to shorten

And the nights are getting long,

And we miss the flies and skeeters

And the song birds' sweetest song,—

To some the summer's passing,

Leaves the world a darker hue,

But to me it makes it brighter,

Just the same as if 'twas new.

As I say, some people hate it,

But I love it best of all;

When the nights are getting frosty

And the leaves commence to fall.

You get up in the morning

And the air is crisp and cold,

The hills have on their war paint,

Crimson, orange, brown and gold;

And to me they have a message

That I can't forget at all,

When the nights are getting frosty

And the leaves commence to fall.

I can easily foresee

That I cannot tarry long,

So I at once get busy,

And my heart is full of song;

As I look my snow-shoes over,

And patch up my canoe;

As happy as a little boy

Whose red-top boots are new.

And I work both late and early

And don't want to stop at all,

When the nights are getting frosty

And the leaves commence to fall.

Now the north wind is a-blowing

But, then little do I care,

For I know a little cabin

Holds all my grubstake there.

And that very self-same cabin

Is dearer to me than all,

When the nights are getting frosty

And the leaves commence to fall.

And so I will soon be starting

To where the deer on meadows play,

And the wondrous Northern lights

Make the forest light as day.

Back to the lakes and rivers,

As straight as a laden bee,

Back to the forest primeval,

That's where I long to be!

Trapping on creeks and marshes,

Back where the bull-moose call.

When the nights are getting frosty

And the leaves commence to fall.

AU REVOIR

Now here's my pack of trail-told rhymes,

Written by me at varying times;

Some when the flowers were fresh with bloom

And the air was fragrant with sweet perfume.

And others when forests were dark and drear,

And the meadows all were brown and sear;

The trees were leafless that the wind moaned through,

And frost in the morning replaced the dew.

And some when the snow through his mantle deep

Had told the flowers to go to sleep;

And ever as I took my pen in hand

To picture God's wonders so noble and grand,

I felt if I was able to even phase

One thing correctly, I would sing His praise

To the long trail's end where e'er I tramp,

Till I drop my pack at the last home camp.

And so dear friends, when you gaze on these lines,

Should they take you back to some former times

When you, yourself, were a knight of the hills,

And these lines cause your heart some thrills;

And cause you to say, "He's a friend of mine,

He's a son of Nature, at Nature's shrine!"

Then the world will be sweet as the new mown hay,

Or the blossoms that bloom in the month of May.

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES ***