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Home  »  An American Anthology, 1787–1900  »  230 Autumn in the West

Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.

By William DavisGallagher

230 Autumn in the West

THE AUTUMN time is with us. Its approach

Was heralded, not many days ago,

By hazy skies that veiled the brazen sun,

And sea-like murmurs from the rustling corn,

And low-voiced brooks that wandered drowsily

By pendent clusters of empurpling grapes

Swinging upon the vine. And now, ’t is here!

And what a change hath passed upon the face

Of nature, where the waving forest spreads,

Then robed in deepest green! All through the night

The subtle frost has plied its magic art;

And in the day the golden sun hath wrought

True wonders; and the winds of morn and even

Have touched with magic breath the changing leaves.

And now, as wanders the dilating eye

Athwart the varied landscape, circling far,

What gorgeousness, what blazonry, what pomp

Of colors bursts upon the ravished sight!

Here, where the poplar rears its yellow crest,

A golden glory; yonder, where the oak

Stands monarch of the forest, and the ash

Is girt with flame-like parasite, and broad

The dogwood spreads beneath, and, fringing all,

The sumac blushes to the ground, a flood

Of deepest crimson; and afar, where looms

The gnarlëd gum, a cloud of bloodiest red.

Out in the woods of autumn! I have cast

Aside the shackles of the town, that vex

The fetterless soul, and come to hide myself,

Miami! in thy venerable shades.

Here where seclusion looks out on a scene

Of matchless beauty, I will pause awhile,

And on this bank with varied mosses crowned

Gently recline. Beneath me, silver-bright,

Glide the calm waters, with a plaintive moan

For summer’s parting glories. High o’er-head,

Seeking the sedgy brinks of still lagoons

That bask in southern suns the winter through,

Sails tireless the unerring waterfowl,

Screaming among the cloud-racks. Oft from where,

In bushy covert hid, the partridge stands,

Bursts suddenly the whistle clear and loud,

Far-echoing through the dim wood’s fretted aisles.

Deep murmurs from the trees, bending with brown

And ripened mast, are interrupted oft

By sounds of dropping nuts; and warily

The turkey from the thicket comes, and swift

As flies an arrow darts the pheasant down,

To batten on the autumn; and the air,

At times, is darkened by a sudden rush

Of myriad wings, as the wild pigeon leads

His squadrons to the banquet. Far away.

Where tranquil groves on sunny slopes supply

Their liberal store of fruits, the merry laugh

Of children, and the truant school-boy’s shout,

Ring on the air, as, from the hollows borne,

Nuts load their creaking carts, and lush pawpaws

Their motley baskets fill, with clustering grapes

And golden-sphered persimmons spread o’er all.