|The hazy days of Autumn now are here,
The cooling breezes fan the toilers brow,
The shortened days give length to night's repose,
And soothe the anguished, fevered brow of all.
The golden grain heaped in the garner lies,
While fruit of every kind hangs rich and rife
Upon the well-bent limbs prostrate to earth,
All ruby with the flush of health's own type.
The meadows seared, no longer give delight,
Inviting revel o'er its rolling green;
The forests in their brown and faded garb,
Give sadness to the once delightful scene.
Nature itself seems mocked, that here is staid
The welling life that long has greened each leaf,
And gave refreshing dreams beneath its shade,
Drying each tear of sadness with relief.
A different world dawns on the mind of toil,
From scenes of rural caste, his soul must feast
Upon the other side of life's bright dream,
Which satisfies him none the least.
Grown weary now of dust and earthly strife,
The season of his toil and sweat and pain,
Of long persistent, sober strokes at length,
Have passed and gone before a kindlier reign.
In festive joys and pleasures now he lives
Upon the fatness that the seasons bring;
Indulging in the wintry fireside talk,
And jokes and songs, where laughter loudly rings.
And thus in turn the seasons come and go,
Each having in its turn fresh thoughts for man;
And each to man brings kindly virtues given;
The combined seasons are the one god Pan.
__James A. DeMoss
James A. DeMoss
(Thayer, Kansas: ___. 1892)