I have passed the day mid the forest gay,
In its gorgeous autumn dyes,
Its tints as bright and as fair to the sight
As the hues of our sunset skies;
And the suns glad rays veiled by golden haze,
Streamed down neath its arches grand,
And with magic power made scene and hour
Like a dream of Faerie Land.
The emerald sheen of the maple green
Is turned to deep, rich red;
And the boughs entwine with the crimson vine
That is climbing overhead;
While, like golden sheaves, the saffron leaves
Of the sycamore strew the ground,
Neath birches old, clad in shimmering gold,
Or the ash with red berries crowned.
Stately and tall, oer its sisters all,
Stands the poplar, proud and lone,
Every silvery leaf in restless grief
Laments for the summer flown;
While each oak and elm of the sylvan realm,
In brilliant garb arrayed,
With each other vie, neath the autumn sky,
In beauty of form and shade
When wearied the gaze with the vivid blaze
Of rich tints before it spread
Gay orange and gold, with shades untold
Of glowing carmine and red
It can turn mid the scene to the sombre green
Of the fir, the hemlock, the pine,
Ever-keeping their hue, and their freshness, too,
Mid the seasons swift decline.
Though the birds sweet song, that the summer long
Hath flowed so sweet and clear
Through the cool, dim shades of our forest glades,
No longer charms the ear,
A witching spell, that will please as well
As his glad notes, may be found
In the solemn hush, or the leaves soft rush,
As they thickly strew the ground.
For, though they tell of summers farewell,
Of their own decay and doom,
Of the wild storm-cloud and the snows cold shroud,
And the days of winters gloom,
The heart must yield to the power they wield,
Alike tender, soothing, gay
The beauties that gleam and that reign supreme
In our woods, this autumn day.
