AUTUMN TO SPRING.

I wish the stately golden-rod Might kiss the little wind-flower sweet, That asters might to cowslips nod, And eyebright run in haste to greet The violet from the April sod— So once the Fall and Spring might meet. I wish my Little Self and I Might sometime cross each other’s way. My Little Self is wondrous shy; I can not meet her any day, Howe’er I search, howe’er I pry About these meadows autumn-gay. The runaway, the teasing elf! She flits where woodland blossoms drift; She has a world of pretty pelf She gathered from the ripples swift; Such joys she has, my Little Self Will not be lured by any gift. She’s light as bird upon the wing, Her cheeks and eyes are all aglow. To me what gladness she could bring! To her I should be strange, I know. My Little Self holds fast the Spring, And Autumn will not let me go! Yet still I wish the golden-rod Might kiss the little wind-flower sweet, That asters might to cowslips nod, And eyebright run in haste to greet The violet from the April sod.— But Fall and Spring can never meet!