Unseen, the airy fingers of October,
In stealthy silence giving, as a thief
Might take, dropt on my window-sill a sober,
Already faded, withering autumn leaf.

Seems it a cipher or a cryptic token
From Nature's very self, to me addrest,
Writ in a mystic language never spoken,
An occult, many-meaning palimpsest.

With eyes that swim in mist, I con the message
This pictured allegory renders clear,
At once a reminiscence and a presage,
Symbol of life and emblem of the year.

Sweet-scented missive and memento mori,
Embalming buried days, on this I pore,
And read, in hues of green and golden glory,
Spring, summer, autumn, that return no more.

And yet the spirit that did me remember
With this dear gift, in sympathetic mood,
I know will not forget me when December
Scatters his snow-flowers round my solitude.

For I, untaught, the sooth well learned that never
The heart that loved her Nature did betray,
That no vicissitude of time can sever
My love from her, or wean her care away.

Men's love may perish in the changing season;
True friends, estranged, transform to bitter foes;
But who can chide the constant stars for treason,
Or mourn the alienation of the rose?

Steadfast is Nature, whatsoever fashion
Her forces take to build or to destroy:
Forever calm and just, no rage of passion
Perturbs her inner permanence of joy.