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Lush summer had her lavish treasure hurled
On grove, and glade, and garden all abloom;
When by the roadside--prophesy of doom--
The banner of the golden-rod unfurled.
Then suddenly we saw that haze was curled
About the hills; first missed the song and boom
Of bird and bee, and poppies' faint perfume;
Expectant and a-listening seemed the world.
Then here and there, a yellow leaf behold;
The woodbine dropped a ruby on the sod;
Sumach and maple burnt to red and gold;
While purple asters offered praise to God;
Now on a world of fallen leaves and brown,
The bleak November rains are pelting down.