Autumn Closing

The show is over, and the leafy tent All gold and crimson where the sunlight lingered Through the slow afternoon, is coming down. The bittersweet is scarlet on the bough Reluctant to be gone, though frosts have strewn Patrins of glory on the forest trails, While tatters of torn splendor go to feed The smoky bonfires in the village street. What singer pipes the closing autumn hush With surest note of cheer in all the wild? A dauntless minstrel of the changing year, Chickadee of the wilderness! He knows What sweetness gathers in the winter's heart, What saving oracles the North Wind sings.