Summer is Gone

Across the fields the gleaming goldOf Autumn-time steals slow;The maples flush with crimson heat,The sumachs fervid glow;The morning airs are damp and cool,At night the skies are gray;The wild-wood silence tells the taleThat Summer's gone away.

We miss the birds that sang in June,We miss the sweet-lipped flowers,We miss the soft airs of the south,We miss the long, slow hours.These autumn days are all too short;Though brilliant in decay,Their very splendor saddens us,For Summer's gone away.

The frost-weed blossoms by the brook,The nuts, in forest shades,Drop one by one; the asters paleHide in the woody glades;The mornings shorten, and the sunFalls with a slanting ray,—All nature tells us mournfully,That Summer's gone away.