The orchard trees clustering over the vale,
And weeds that fringed the rill.
One she had gilt with a flood of gold,
And one she had tipped with flame;
One, she had dashed with every hue
That the laughing sunset ever knew,
And one—she had colored it through and through
Russet, all sober and tame.
Now this beautiful artist will only stay
A very few days, and then