Элис Хант Бартлетт (Alice Hunt Bartlett)

Autumn

The blaze of autumn scorches now the hill,
And many anxious creatures range the brake
Concerned, as if they knew they soon must take
Their final breath, for autumn winds are chill!
The watch-fires flame beside the humming mill,
Where trees bend scarlet by a brimming lake
And on the edge complains a mournful drake,
As if he knew full well Fall comes to kill.

The blaze of autumn scorches now the heart,
And coming partings seem upon the wind
And eyes gaze wistfully that dread to part:
The transiency of life afflicts the mind
With thought of separation, swift tears start
For those who go . . . and those who stay behind.

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