Indian Summer

Lord of the sunshine and the soul of earth, Here in the slow autumnal afternoon Drenched in the balm that sweetens the blue grape And keeps the cricket chirping in the grass, Musing on loveliness there come to us Hints of supernal artistry,—we learn The folly of impatience and despair. Not the sublime sierras in their snows Guarding the secrets of the Manitou, Nor desert ranges flushed with sunrise gold, Silent in wonder, nor the fragrant moors Above the summer sea, are lovelier Than these haze-haunted Indian-summer lands In the wild Valley of the Rippowam.