THE hills are bright with maples yet; But down the level land The beech leaves rustle in the wind As dry and brown as sand. The clouds in bars of rusty red Along the hill-tops glow, And in the still, sharp air, the frost Is like a dream of snow. The berries of the brier-rose Have lost their rounded pride: The bitter-sweet chrysanthemums Are drooping heavy-eyed. The cricket grows more friendly now, The dormouse sly and wise, Hiding away in the disgrace Of nature, from men's eyes. The pigeons in black wavering lines Are swinging toward the sun; And all the wide and withered fields Proclaim the summer done. His store of nuts and acorns now The squirrel hastes to gain, And sets his house in order for The winter's dreary reign. 'T is time to light the evening fire, To read good books, to sing The low and lovely songs that breathe Of the eternal spring. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO LIVE MERRILY AND TO TRUST TO GOOD VERSES by ROBERT HERRICK EVENING IN ENGLAND by FRANCIS LEDWIDGE EPIGRAM ON QUEEN CAROLINE'S DEATHBED by ALEXANDER POPE THE LADY OF SHALOTT by ALFRED TENNYSON THE CRISIS by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER THE PROCLAMATION by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER |