It's autumn in the country I remember How warm a wind blew here about the ways! And shadows on the hillside lay to slumber During the long sun-sweetened summer-days. It's cold abroad the country I remember. The swallows veering skimmed the golden grain At midday with a wing aslant and limber; And yellow cattle browsed upon the plain It's empty down the country I remember. I had a sister lovely in my sight: Her hair was dark, her eyes were very sombre; We sang together in the woods at night. It's lonely in the country I remember. The babble of our children fills my ears, And on our hearth I stare the perished ember To flames that show all starry thro' my tears. It's dark about the country I remember. There are the mountains where I lived. The path Is slushed with cattle-tracks and fallen timber, The stumps are twisted by the tempests' wrath. But that I knew these places are my own, I'd ask how came such wretchedness to cumber The earth, and I to people it alone. It rains across the country I remember.
Trumbull Stickney - 1874-1904
These autumn gardens, russet, gray and brown, The sward with shrivelled foliage strown, The shrubs and trees By weary wings of sunshine overflown And timid silences,— Since first you, darling, called my spirit yours, Seem happy, and the gladness pours From day to day, And yester-year across this year endures Unto next year away. Now in these places where I used to rove And give the dropping leaves my love And weep to them, They seem to fall divinely from above, Like to a diadem Closing in one with the disheartened flowers. High up the migrant birds in showers Shine in the sky, And all the movement of the natural hours Turns into melody.