Autumn.

A poem by H. P. Nichols

Here's the purple aster,
And the golden-rod,
And the blue fringed gentian,
By the meadow sod.

And the scarlet cardinal
Grows beside the brook,
And the yellow sunflower
In some sheltered nook.

Maple boughs are covered
With their foliage red,
And the withered elm leaves
On the ground lie dead.

And within the orchard,
Heavy-laden trees
Shower down the apples,
With each passing breeze.

So by these we know thee,
Lovely autumn time,
With thy deep blue heavens,
And thy snowy rime.

And we gladly greet thee,
With thy colors gay,
Though thou tell'st us summer
Hence hath fled away.