Now, when the summer flowers are past and dead,
And, from the earth's wild bosom, brown and bare,
No trillium lifts its head;
When, in the hollows where the violets were
Purple and white and fair,
Only a few brown leaves are falling now,
The wind shakes from the bough:
Now, when the tiger-lily's flame no more
Burns in the long, lush grasses on the hill,
And, by the river shore,
The smoky trail of asters, lingering still,
Thins, and the air grows chill
With the first feathery snowflakes, that anon
Fall softly and are gone:
O let us leave this dull and dusty street,
The noise and heat and turmoil of the town
For country waysides sweet,
Lanes where the nuts are clustering, plump and brown,
Hedges blackberries crown;
Come, ere the shivering blasts of winter blow,
Let us make haste and go.
IN ARCADIE
Heart of my heart, the long road lies
A streak of white across the down
To where the hill-tops touch the skies;
Then let us seek the mountain's crown
And cross its summit, bare and brown,
Heart of my heart, O come with me
To walk the ways of Arcadie.
Heart of my heart, right merrily
The little winds of Springtime blow,
The air is full of melody,
The birds are singing, soft and low;
Heart of my heart, then let us go
Across the hills, and wander free
The pleasant paths of Arcadie.
There sunny land and sunny sea
Lie drowsing in the noontide heat,
There song of bird and hum of bee
Mix in a music wild and sweet,
And in the thyme beneath our feet
Cicalas chirp their melody,
Across the hills in Arcadie.
Or, when the twilight shadows steep
The hill-tops with a misty light,
And stars their quiet watches keep
Through the short hours of summer night,
And glow-worms burn their lanterns bright,
The streams still murmur sleepily
Across the hills in Arcadie.
Heart of my heart, O let us leave
The toil and turmoil of the town,
And men that work and men that grieve,
And take the road across the down
And climb the hill-top, bare and brown;
Heart of my heart, O come with me
To walk the ways of Arcadie.