Volume 2 — AUTUMN.

The summer departed, So gentle and brief— Pale autumn is come, With its sere yellow leaf. Its breath in the vale, Its voice in the breeze, A many hued garment Is over the trees. In red and in purple The leaves seem to bloom,— The stern slayer comes— It hath spoken their doom; And those that may seem With rubies to vie,— They tell us that beauty Blooms only to die. Yet sad as the whispers Of sorrow its breath, And touching its hues As the garment of death,— Still autumn, though sad And mournful it be, Is sweetest and dearest Of seasons to me.