An Autumn sun, a golden haze,
The first of bright October days
In a calm radiance shining;
A meadow, stretching broad and green,
And on its breast in silver sheen
A ribbon streamlet twining.
Swift rushing from its mountain source
It leaps the downward rocky course
In haste to leave the shadow;
It winds the valleys, dimly seen,
It threads the mountains' wild ravine,
And drops into the meadow.
So softly taken to its breast,
What wonder that it loves the rest,
Its ocean home forgetting;
With dreamy murmurs creeps the tide,
And none that saw the spot could chide
Its lingering and regretting.
Nature lies quiet, with hushed breath;
That life most glorious in its death,
Its hectic flush is showing;
A crimson tint on wood and hill,
A golden light, and all so still,
So wondrous in its glowing.
In brighter robes than those of May,
The fair Year burns her life away,
As if for summer mourning,
Like Eastern brides, she sought the fire,
And perished grandly on his pyre
Exulting in that burning.
Calm skies above, fair fields below;
The sunshine sleeps, the waters flow,
With effortless outgiving;
And with a thousand happy things
My heart too lies at rest and sings
'The joy, the joy of living.'
