But the hearth shall kindle clearer, Life is sweeter, love is dearer, LATER POEMS. THE LAST WALK IN AUTUMN. I. O'ER the bare woods, whose outstretched hands Plead with the leaden heavens in vain, I see, beyond the valley lands, The sea's long level dim with rain. Around me all things, stark and dumb, Seem praying for the snows to come, And, for the summer bloom and greenness gone, With winter's sunset lights and dazzling morns atone. II. Along the river's summer walk, The withered tufts of asters nod; And trembles on its arid stalk, The hoar plume of the golden-rod. And on a ground of sombre fir, The silver birch its buds of purple shows, And scarlet berries tell where bloomed the sweet wild rose! III. With mingled sound of horns and bells, Two dusky lines converged in one, Chasing the southward-flying sun; While the brave snow-bird and the hardy jay IV. I passed this way a year ago: The wind blew south; the noon of day Was warm as June's; and save that snow Flecked the low mountains far away, And that the vernal-seeming breeze Mocked faded grass and leafless trees, I might have dreamed of summer as I lay, Watching the fallen leaves with the soft wind at play. V. Since then, the winter blasts have piled The white pagodas of the snow On these rough slopes, and, strong and wild, Yon river, in its overflow Of spring-time rain and sun, set free, Crashed with its ices to the sea; And over these gray fields, then green and gold, The summer corn has waved, the thunder's organ rolled. VI. Rich gift of God! A year of time! What pomp of rise and shut of day, What hues wherewith our Northern clime Makes autumn's dropping woodlands gay, What airs outblown from ferny dells, What songs of brooks and birds, what fruits and flowers, Green woods and moonlit snows, have in its round been ours! |