Ah, happy morning of autumn sweet,
Yet ripe and rich with summer’s heat.
Near me each humble flower and weed——
The dock’s rich umber, gone to seed,
The hawk-bit’s gold, the bayberry’s spice,
One late wild rose beyond all price;
Each is a friend and all are dear,
Pathetic signs of the waning year.
The painted rose-leaves, how they glow!
Like crimson wine the woodbines show;
The wholesome yarrow’s clusters fine,
Like frosted silver dimly shine;
And who thy quaintest charm shall tell,
Thou little scarlet pimpernel?
In the mellow, golden autumn days,
When the world is zoned in their purple haze,
A spirit of beauty walks abroad,
That fills the heart with peace of God;
The spring and summer may bless and cheer,
But autumn brings us the crown o’ the year.
