Olivia In The Autumn

Not redder than her lips This weather! Not rosier two rose-hips Together! As she comes carolling Down wildwood ways, where sing The birds, and flowers swing In many a feather.

Of her belovéd cheeks October Makes flame-flushed leaves, and speaks,-- Now sober, Now wild,--its happiness In gold, and on her dress Lays many a bright caress As if to robe her.

The wild-birds praise her eyes Each hour; Above her bend the skies And shower Around her, there and here, Strays of the passing year, Azure and gold and sere Of weed and flower.

The wood-winds kiss her hair And wonder What flower blossoms there: And, under Its deeps of acorn-brown, Her glory and her crown, The sunbeams lay them down, And dream and ponder.

And I--I take her hands, Her lover; And kiss her where she stands; And over Our heads the soft winds call, And heav’n smiles down; and all The golden dreams of Fall Around us hover.