When hunter moon hangs crescent in the sky,
And wild deer range on rugged mountain side;
When old primeval instincts, nature born,
Stir in the hunter's blood with lust to kill,
And drive him forth with dog and gun, at morn,
To sheltered blind, or runway 'neath the hill—
All these proclaim the glorious autumn days,
When Nature spends her wealth with lavish hand,
And o'er the landscape spreads a purple haze,
And waves her magic scepter o'er the land.