The late light falls across the floor,
Turned amber from a yellow tree,--
And there are yellow cups for four,
And lemon for the tea.

The maples, with a million flames,
Have lit the golden afternoon,
An ambient radiance that shames
The ineffective moon....

Till dull and smoky greys return,
Quenching the street with chills and damps--
Leaving these asters where they burn,
Mellow like evening lamps.