I never knew the seasons held So much of joy and bliss, Till summer gave to autumn Its fervent good bye kiss: The leaves are all a riot Of browns and tans and red— Painted by midget fairies Because the flowers are dead. Just where they dip their brushes To paint so rich a glow, And where the pigments come from No artist seems to know: At dawn the world is misty With autumn's dews and damp, Until the king of daytime Turns on his sunbeam lamp,— And then the world is flooded With tints the sunsets know, And maybe that's the palette To which the fairies go: The little imps of mischief Have done their level best To wed the fall with winter, In bridal garments dressed. |