In Autumn

The gold-red leaves have burned To their last great glow, and died And underfoot By the strong oak's root They are seized by the angry wind and spurned And into a common grave have turned For Summer--warm and wide.

A year must a sapling wage Its life with the sun and rain, Then its tender youth Without reck or ruth Is frozen and beaten to harsh old age By a stroke of Nature mother's rage And the sturdy fight seems vain.

It wails to the oak o'erhead As the coffin-cold wraps round "The end of life Is toil and strife And the secret of being, I have found Is a seed in the wind and a log on the ground. I hope I will soon be dead."

"Peace little struggler--sleep"-- And the great oak croons a song, "Death is but night And a cradle white For one dark space may the shadows creep, Then Spring will rise from her dungeon keep And life wake, wise and strong."

WAITING FOR DAY

Sweet Lady Night is paling white. Why lags her Lord and Master? She weeping, lays her jewels off-- Ah--may he not come faster.

But hush--the tender rosy blush Her beauty fair adorning Her love steps o'er the mountain's rim, They kiss--and here's the morning.

THE ANGEL OF INDIFFERENCE

A Man once loved a Woman, in the days of old, Our bond is the strongest in the world, they said-- The Angels up above Are jealous of our love, Perhaps they are wishing we were dead, overhead.

So they loved for a Time and the passing of a Time, And the Angel of Indifference, smiling down, saw their fire, And he covered for a space With his sombre wings his face, That they twain might have of love all desire, without tire.

But love's perfect joy within them burned at last to a flame Till they longed for a breeze that would gently cool the heart. For absence! cooling snow They sighed apart and low, Tho' they murmured still their love, hand and heart loth to part.

But at length they prayed together to the calm Angel--pale, Ah--we yearn, scorched and weary, for the peace of thy breast. For that land where love seems But the shadow of dreams, Where all sleep in the silver of the West, give us rest.

And he heard, and he bore them to the cool grey heights, Where all men may drift and himself alone stands fast, And gave them for their token The peace of dreams unbroken Where their souls, his faithful vassals, rest at last, from the past.