One golden autumn day,
And the breezes stirring the tree-tops,
Were as soft as those of May.
But looking away to the woodland,
Through hazy autumn air,
The red and gold of the forest leaves,
Proclaimed the frost-touch there.
The grass was still green in the pasture.
Where soft-eyed cattle trod.
And down in the deep, sheltered valleys.
Were asters and golden rod.
But I knew the merciless frost-king.
Would come with might, erelong.
And blast all the green things remaining,
And still the sweet bird-song.
So my heart drank in the warm beauty,
Of that soft autumn day,
With a wistful love for ev'rything,
So soon to pass away.