Flinging thy dim gauntlet down?
Dost thou come from Southern seas?
Or from mountain fastnesses?
Ho, we call thee Indian Summer,
O thou late and languid comer,
Loitering our forest aisles;
Idling with the sunshine dreamy,
As with wandering a-weary,
Chary, ever, of thy smiles.
Thou hast come to claim the glamour