How still and cool and dim the woodland lies,
The goldenrod's bright flame has died away,
The gleaming blue has vanished from the skies,
The sumach's red grows fainter day by day;
The gilding radiance of the sunshine's gold,
The gay hues in the leaves that danced about—
All, all are gone. October's tale is told
And all her many colored fires are out.
The earth has donned a robe of sober brown,
A restful shadow hangs o'er plain and wood;
The leaves, in faded heaps, have nestled down
As if to rest from frolicking were good.
Like pillars in a temple, old and grand,
Their tall, dark columns rearing toward the sky,
In long, dim woodland aisles, the bare trees stand
And spread their leafless branches far on high.
—Selected.