Xiii

Bland was that October day, Calm and balmy as the spring, When we went a forest way, Under beeches, lichen-gray, To a valleyed opening; Where the purple aster flowered, And, like torches, savage-held, Red the fiery sumac towered; And, where gum-trees sentineled Vistas, robed in gold and garnet, Ripe the thorny chestnut shelled Its brown plumpness. Bee and hornet Droned around us; low the cricket, Tireless in the wood-rose thicket, Tremoloed; and, to the wind All its moon-spun silver casting, Swung the milkweed's pod, that thinned, Where a butterfly seemed pinned: And its clean flame on the sod By the fading goldenrod, Burned the white life-everlasting.-- It was not so much the time, Nor the place, nor way we went, That made all our moods to rhyme, Nor the season's sentiment, As it was the innocent Carefree childhood of our hearts, Reading each expression of Death and change as life and love: That impression joy imparts Unto others and retorts On itself, which then made glad All the sorrow of decay, As the memory of that day Makes this day of autumn sad.