Flashes of gold that fleck the sober grey;
Dark ruddy tints that crimson in the light;
Soft streaks of silver glimmering pearly white,
Amid the russet browns half hid away;
Pure green of spring that lingers while it may;
Patches of ivy-foliage dark as night;
Rich purple shades that peep out from the height:
Such crown with glory the September day.
Oh autumn woods! I lie beside the stream
That winds you round about so lovingly,
And rapt in sensfe of wondrous beauty, see
How vain must be ambition's lofty dream
To rival tints like yours, or dare to trace
Your perfect harmony, your perfect grace.