I.

Mary , it is many a day since we sat together
On the lawn of “While-Away,” in the Autumn weather.

Oaks were putting crimson on down the forest reaches,
Maples wore a golden zone, russet-brown the beeches.

Mists above the river hung; clouds went trailing slower;
Meadow streamlets sighed and sung sadder songs and lower.

Daffodils were dead and gone—gone the odorous gillies;
Frost had set his signet on the roses and the lilies.

Mignonette and heliotrope, half their bloom departed,
Blessed the air, as Faith and Hope bless the weary-hearted.

Day was crowned with purple light, eve with shadows tender,
And the full moon rose at night in a crimson splendor.

Summer's silver-throated guests to the Southland hying,
Left behind their empty nests where the winds were sighing.

Katydids, all summer dumb, plained their story over;
Dusky bees, with drowsy hum, droned among the clover.

Leaves kept dropping, all day long, from the trees that bore them,
Driven by the winds that sung May-day songs before them.

II.

Now the gentle spring has come, from the tropic bowers,
With her fragrance, beauty, bloom, sunshine, song and showers,

Decorating shrub and tree, weaving flowers and grasses
Into bright embroidery wheresoe'er she passes.

Bird and bee the livelong day, full of life and pleasure,
Thank the Lord as well they may, in a merry measure.

Hawthorns flaunt in robes of snow, in tassels green the larches,
Red-buds kindle up a glow in the wildwood arches.

Buckeyes starred with paly gold, willows pranked with fringes;
Aspens trembling to uphold leaves with silver tinges.

Wavelets dancing on their way, tremulous with laughter,
Tossing wreathes of diamond spray to those coming after.

Softly sinks the setting sun, wrapped in golden hazes;
Merrily the south winds run, kissing all the daisies.

Seven months have gone their ways, with their cares and sorrows—
With their weary yesterdays, and their bright to-morrows.

O, what were their gifts to thee, gentle-hearted maiden?
Have they left thee fancy-free, or spellbound in love's Aidenn?

Have they left thee free from scath, happy as they found thee—
Morning's sunshine on thy path, Hope's fair rainbow round thee?

Treading perfume from the flowers, weaving grand romances,
Winging all the voiceless hours with delicious fancies?

Time is kind to such as thou, touching with light fingers
Rosy lips and sunny brow, smiling while he lingers.

May thy path be ever bright, bright the sky above thee;
May Heaven bless thee day and night, and all its angels love thee.