Autumn Days

From The Times Dispatch, October 1, 1914. By George West Diehl.

The breath of autumn is sighing
    Through the trees,
Whispering softly, “Summer’s dying,”
    To the leaves.
And they beneath his frosty kiss
Are blushing in their happy bliss,
    In the breeze.

Now in the woodland depths is heard
    Foxes’ tread,
And the cry of a winging bird
    Overhead.
A blue haze o’er the landscape lies
Stretching to where the mountains rise
    Far ahead.

Beneath the leaning trees, silver gray
    Sycamore.
The brooklet murmurs on its way
    By green shore.
High above in the cloudless sky
Legions of leaves go whirling by
    In full corps.