Lantern-waving autumn leaves Richest gold and yellow, Russet and of glowing red, Sight that gladdens ever When ripe Autumn's cloak is spread, When the moon seems nearer. Leafy trees, they beckon me, All their branches swaying; As beneath their shade I pause, Hear their whispered praying: Sleepy ones, the old tree nods, Soon you must be flying; Winter comes to bring us rest, Spring is nearer hie-ing. Anon. |