ODE TO AUTUMN.

THE grasshopper creaks in the leafy gloom, And the bumble-bee bumbleth the live long day; But the mathering nurks in the bran new broom, And hushed is the sound of the buzz saw’s play. Oh, it’s little he thinks of the cold mince pie, And it’s little he seeks of the raw ice cream; For the dying old year with its tremulous sigh, Shall waken the lingering loon from his dream. Oh, list! For the cricket, now far, now near, Full shrillfully singeth his roundelay; While the negligent noodle his noisy cheer Screeps where the doodle bug eats the hay. Oh, the buzz saw so buzzily buzzeth the stick And bumbling the bumble-bee bumbleth his tune While the cricket cricks crickingly down at the creek And the noodle noods noodingly, “Ha! It is noon!” The dog-fennel sighs, “She is here! she is here!” And the smart weed says dreamily, “Give us a rest!” The hop vine breathes tenderly, “Give us a beer!” While the jimson weed hollers, “Oh, pull down your vest!” Oh, Anna Maria, why don’t you come home? For the clock in the steeple strikes seven or eight; Way down in the murky mazourka the gloam Is gloaming its gloamingest gloam on the gate.