SEPTEMBER WOODS.
243
The fragrant ferns,
And clinging mosses, to whom Summer kind
Had been, more than to other lowly things,
Are true; and not till they are trampled low
By icy warriors, will they refuse
Their emerald carpet to her tread, and then,
In cold white grief, will die around her feet:
The simpering Birch, unstable in the wind,
Is first to break his faith, and cheaply bought
By gold, in brazen vanity, lifts up
His arms, and broadly waves the glittering price
Of his dishonor: Poplars next and Elms
Grow envious of the yellow shEw, and hold
Their hands for traitor's wages; but more scant
And dim the golden tokens gained by them;
For now disloyalty has spread, and grown
More bold of front: whole clans are cheaply won.
In hostile signal fires from hill to hill,
The Maples blaze; the tangled Sumach-trees
Of glowing spikes build crimson ladders up
The wall; ungainly Moosewood strives and creeps
And shakes his purple-spotted banner out
Defiantly; the sturdy Beeches throw
Their harvest down, and bristle in a suit
Of leathern points: all is revolt, and all
Is lost for Summer!
Vainly now she showers
By brook and pool her white and purple stars,
And lifts in all the fields her Golden-Rod;
In vain thin scarlet streamers sets along
The meadows, and to Gentian's pallid lips
Of blue calls back the chilled and torpid bee;
And clinging mosses, to whom Summer kind
Had been, more than to other lowly things,
Are true; and not till they are trampled low
By icy warriors, will they refuse
Their emerald carpet to her tread, and then,
In cold white grief, will die around her feet:
The simpering Birch, unstable in the wind,
Is first to break his faith, and cheaply bought
By gold, in brazen vanity, lifts up
His arms, and broadly waves the glittering price
Of his dishonor: Poplars next and Elms
Grow envious of the yellow shEw, and hold
Their hands for traitor's wages; but more scant
And dim the golden tokens gained by them;
For now disloyalty has spread, and grown
More bold of front: whole clans are cheaply won.
In hostile signal fires from hill to hill,
The Maples blaze; the tangled Sumach-trees
Of glowing spikes build crimson ladders up
The wall; ungainly Moosewood strives and creeps
And shakes his purple-spotted banner out
Defiantly; the sturdy Beeches throw
Their harvest down, and bristle in a suit
Of leathern points: all is revolt, and all
Is lost for Summer!
Vainly now she showers
By brook and pool her white and purple stars,
And lifts in all the fields her Golden-Rod;
In vain thin scarlet streamers sets along
The meadows, and to Gentian's pallid lips
Of blue calls back the chilled and torpid bee;
