THE VOICE OF AUTUMN.
Therecomes, from yonder height,A soft repining sound,Where forest leaves are bright,And fall like flakes of lightTo the ground.It is the autumn breeze,That, lightly floating on,Just skims the weedy leas,Just stirs the glowing trees,And is gone.He moans by sedgy brook,And visits with a sigh,The last pale flowers that lookFrom out their sunny nookAt the sky.O’er shouting children fliesThat light October wind;And, kissing cheeks and eyes,He leaves their merry criesFar behind,And wanders on to makeThat soft uneasy soundBy distant wood and lake,Where distant fountains breakFrom the ground.No bower where maidens dwellCan win a moment’s stay;Nor fair untrodden dell;He sweeps the upland swell,And away!Mourn’st thou thy homeless state,O soft, repining wind!That early seek’st, and late,The rest it is thy fateNot to find?Not on the mountain’s breast,Not on the ocean’s shore,In all the East and West;The wind that stops to restIs no more.By valleys, woods, and springs,No wonder thou shouldst grieveFor all the glorious thingsThou touchest with thy wingsAnd must leave.
Therecomes, from yonder height,A soft repining sound,Where forest leaves are bright,And fall like flakes of lightTo the ground.It is the autumn breeze,That, lightly floating on,Just skims the weedy leas,Just stirs the glowing trees,And is gone.He moans by sedgy brook,And visits with a sigh,The last pale flowers that lookFrom out their sunny nookAt the sky.O’er shouting children fliesThat light October wind;And, kissing cheeks and eyes,He leaves their merry criesFar behind,And wanders on to makeThat soft uneasy soundBy distant wood and lake,Where distant fountains breakFrom the ground.No bower where maidens dwellCan win a moment’s stay;Nor fair untrodden dell;He sweeps the upland swell,And away!Mourn’st thou thy homeless state,O soft, repining wind!That early seek’st, and late,The rest it is thy fateNot to find?Not on the mountain’s breast,Not on the ocean’s shore,In all the East and West;The wind that stops to restIs no more.By valleys, woods, and springs,No wonder thou shouldst grieveFor all the glorious thingsThou touchest with thy wingsAnd must leave.
Therecomes, from yonder height,A soft repining sound,Where forest leaves are bright,And fall like flakes of lightTo the ground.
Therecomes, from yonder height,
A soft repining sound,
Where forest leaves are bright,
And fall like flakes of light
To the ground.
It is the autumn breeze,That, lightly floating on,Just skims the weedy leas,Just stirs the glowing trees,And is gone.
It is the autumn breeze,
That, lightly floating on,
Just skims the weedy leas,
Just stirs the glowing trees,
And is gone.
He moans by sedgy brook,And visits with a sigh,The last pale flowers that lookFrom out their sunny nookAt the sky.
He moans by sedgy brook,
And visits with a sigh,
The last pale flowers that look
From out their sunny nook
At the sky.
O’er shouting children fliesThat light October wind;And, kissing cheeks and eyes,He leaves their merry criesFar behind,
O’er shouting children flies
That light October wind;
And, kissing cheeks and eyes,
He leaves their merry cries
Far behind,
And wanders on to makeThat soft uneasy soundBy distant wood and lake,Where distant fountains breakFrom the ground.
And wanders on to make
That soft uneasy sound
By distant wood and lake,
Where distant fountains break
From the ground.
No bower where maidens dwellCan win a moment’s stay;Nor fair untrodden dell;He sweeps the upland swell,And away!
No bower where maidens dwell
Can win a moment’s stay;
Nor fair untrodden dell;
He sweeps the upland swell,
And away!
Mourn’st thou thy homeless state,O soft, repining wind!That early seek’st, and late,The rest it is thy fateNot to find?
Mourn’st thou thy homeless state,
O soft, repining wind!
That early seek’st, and late,
The rest it is thy fate
Not to find?
Not on the mountain’s breast,Not on the ocean’s shore,In all the East and West;The wind that stops to restIs no more.
Not on the mountain’s breast,
Not on the ocean’s shore,
In all the East and West;
The wind that stops to rest
Is no more.
By valleys, woods, and springs,No wonder thou shouldst grieveFor all the glorious thingsThou touchest with thy wingsAnd must leave.
By valleys, woods, and springs,
No wonder thou shouldst grieve
For all the glorious things
Thou touchest with thy wings
And must leave.
W. C. Bryant.