Page:The poems of Richard Watson Gilder, Gilder, 1908.djvu/354

326 In the red and the tang of the berry,

The bronze of the leaf.

Chestnuts are ripe on the bough,

And the burrs all are bursting;

For a tramp with you, John, I vow!

I am hungering and thirsting.

Come, John, or you'll be to blame;

The birds wait your biding.

One of them, hearing your name,

Flashed forth from its hiding;—

See, it is searching for you—

Its pretty head cocking;

Pecking, and looking askew,

On the bare bough rocking.

And yonder a stray wing flitters;

A great hawk soars;

The lakelet gleams and glitters;

The high wind roars.

Nearer, from field and thicket,

Come musical calls;

The tinkling, clear note of the cricket,

Chime of ripples and falls.

From the meadow far up to the hight

The leaves all are turning;

By the time you have come to the sight

The world will be blazing and burning.

John of Birds, tarry not till

The first wild snow-flurry;

Voices of forest and hill

Cry hurry, O hurry!