FADED LEAVES.
THE hills are bright with maples yet;
But down the level land
The beeches rustle in the wind
As dry and brown as sand.
The clouds in bars of rusty red
Along the hill-tops glow,
And in the still, sharp air, the frost
Is like a dream of snow.
The berries of the brier-rose
Have lost their rounded pride;
The bitter-sweet chrysanthemums
Are dropping heavy-eyed.
The cricket grows more friendly now,
The dormouse sly and wise,
Hiding away in the disgrace
Of nature, from men's eyes.
The pigeons, in black, wavering lines,
Are swinging toward the sun;
And all the wide and withered fields
Proclaim the summer done.
His store of nuts and acorns now
The squirrel hasten to gain,
And sets his house in order for
The winter's dreary reign.
'T is time to light the evening fire,
To read good books, to sing
The low and lovely songs that breathe
Of the eternal spring.
Alice Cary.