Page:The poems of Richard Watson Gilder, Gilder, 1908.djvu/93

Rh But not till sunset, full of lovely light

And color that the day might not reveal,

Bathed in soft gloom the landscape.

Thus, kind Heaven,

Let me, too, die when Autumn holds the year,—

Serene, with tender hues and bracing airs,—

And near me those I love; with no black thoughts,

Nor dread of what may come! Yea, when I die

Let me not miss from nature the cool rush

Of northern winds; let Autumn sunset skies

Be golden; let the cold, clear blue of night

Whiten with stars as now! then shall I fade

From life to life—pass on the year's full tide

Into the swell and vast of the outer sea

Beyond this narrow world.

For Autumn days

To me not melancholy are, but full

Of joy and hope, mysterious and high;

And with strange promise rife. Then it meseems

Not failing is the year, but gathering fire

Even as the cold increases.

Grows a weed

More richly here beside our mellow seas

That is the Autumn's harbinger and pride.

When fades the cardinal-flower, whose heart-red bloom

Glows like a living coal upon the green

Of the midsummer meadows, then how bright,

How deepening bright, like mounting flame doth burn

The goldenrod upon a thousand hills!

This is the Autumn's flower, and to my soul

A token fresh of beauty and of life,

And life's supreme delight.