Now come the rosy dogwoods...

Now come the rosy dogwoods, The golden tulip-tree, And the scarlet yellow maple, To make a day for me.

The ash-trees on the ridges, The alders in the swamp, Put on their red and purple To join the autumn pomp.

The woodbine hangs her crimson Along the pasture wall, And all the bannered sumacs Have heard the frosty call.

Who then so dead to valor As not to raise a cheer, When all the woods are marching In triumph of the year?