The weather-beaten trellis falls,
The autumn wind sweeps over all;
A blanket for the sleepy deep
Of forest things that dart and creep.

The windy whispers falling down,
Grayish echoes of a distant town,
Fall soft amid the scratching leaves,
As silently as one who grieves.

There is a distant passerby:
The summer fading from the sky,
Dancing devilish on the hill,
Out-driven by a stronger will.

Alas, is gone that cheerful friend
Whose company would daily lend;
Now warming regions far away,
A stranger till some distant day.

The watching soul amends his pace
And cannot but his life retrace;
And drawn in heart toward better times,
He waits the snow from heaven’s climes.

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