GOLDEN-ROD

Spring is the morning of the year, And summer is the noontide bright; The autumn is the evening clear That comes before the winter’s night, And in the evening, everywhere Along the roadside, up and down, I see the golden torches flare Like lighted street lamps in the town. I think the butterfly and bee, From distant meadows coming back, Are quite contented when they see These lamps along the homeward track. But those who stay too late get lost; For when the darkness falls about, Down every lighted street the Frost Will go and put the torches out! —Frank Dempster Sherman.