Children of autumn

From Wikisource
Jump to navigation Jump to search
Children of autumn pg 1.jpg


CHILDREN OF AUTUMN


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLORS

AND MONOTINT BY


MAUD HUMPHREY



VERSES BY

EDITH M. THOMAS



Tiny folk of wintry days pg 5.jpg



NEW YORK

Copyright, 1888, by

Children of autumn pg 5.jpg

September.


Count all the plumes of golden-rod,

That by the country roadsides nod;

Count all the little feathery blooms

That make the golden-rod's gay plumes—


So many times I love this sprite,

With sun-burnt cheeks and eye-beams bright,

Who shoulder-deep in yellow flowers,

Spends all the lazy sunshine hours.


The finches, dressed in gold and black,

Are always flitting on his track,

And sometimes frolic spiders lay

Their tickling webs across his way!

Edith M. Thomas.


Children of autumn pg 9.jpg

October the Artist.


October is an artist rare,

He paints new pictures, every day;

His colors come from who know where?—

Red, orange, purple, misty gray;

He touches first the maple leaf

Which biting frosts have brought to grief.


He paints the grass, and every vine

That clambers over fence or wall:

His hazel eyes mischievous shine,

For when the leaves begin to fall,

He makes them dance around, around,

In elfin rings along the ground!

Edith M. Thomas.


Children of autumn pg 13.jpg

The Holly.


As dreaming by my fire I sat,

I heard a merry din;

The door I opened wide; at that,

A stranger-child stepped in.

He wore a fleecy, warm, white hat

Tied round his dimpled chin.


Green leaves and berries red he brought;

His face and voice were jolly;—

"I have no flowers, but these, I thought,

Would cure your melancholy.

I'll sing a song, that I've been taught,—

It's called, 'Heigh ho, the Holly!'"

Edith M. Thomas.