"An Indian Summer Carol."

"An Indian Summer Carol"

All day the dreamy sunshine seeps

In gold the yellowing beeches,
In softest blue the river sleeps

Among the island reaches.

Against the distant purple hills
Rich autumn tints are glowing;
Its blood-red wine the sumach spills,
Deep hues of carmine showing.

Upon the glassy stream the boat
Glides softly, like a vision;
And, with its shadow, seems to float

Among the isles Elysian.

About the plumy golden-rod
The tireless bee is humming,
While crimson blossoms star the sod

And wait the rover's coming.

The birch and maple glow with dyes
of scarlet, rose, and amber;
And, like a flame from sunset skies

The tangled creepers clamber.

The oaks a royal purple wear
Gold-crowned where sunlight presses;
The birch stands like a Dryad fair

Beneath her golden tresses.

So still the air -- so like a dream --
We hear the acorn falling;
And, o'er the scarcely rippled stream,

The loon's long-quavered calling.

The robin softly, o'er the lea,
A farewell song in trilling;
The squirrel flits from tree to tree

Its winter storehouse filling.

Like him, we too may gather store
from all this glorious Nature;
Then, leave, my friend, your bookish lore

And dreary nomenclature.

Leave the old thinkers to their dreams,
The treasures of the ages;
leave dusty scientific reams,

And study Nature's pages.

Her poetry is better far
Than all men write about her;
Old Homer's song of love and war

Had scarce been sung without her.

Haste to the wood, -- put books away,
They'll wait the tardy comer;
For them there's many a winter day,

But brief's our Indian summer!

-- "Fidelis."
(As to who "Fidelis" is, I have no idea.
I understand him to be a Canadian poet.)

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Peter Landry