| Autumn in the Mountains |
| The mountains are more beautiful as Autumn days unfold, When great oak leaves are turning red and maple leaves are gold. The peacefulness of wooded hills, where singing creeks run free, When larks and robins on the wing add poignant melodies. The distant peaks are beautiful, each wreathed in purple haze, From drifting smoke of phantom fires on Indian summer days. Through long cathedrals, vaulted high, made by the arching trees, To walk there on a carpet bright of painted Autumn leaves. Sunsets are more beautiful, and twilight's afterglow, When gold sunfires send streamers high as shadows come and go. The mountains are more beautiful from dawns to sunsets rare, When Autumn walks the hills and vales with oak leaves in her hair. -- Florence Roddy |
| There's something in the Autumn that moves my heart like rhyme, With the yellow and the scarlet and the crimson keeping time. First, the flaming of the maples, then, my lonely spirit thrills To see the frosty asters, like smoke upon the hills. There's something in October that sets my blood astir, When she starts to paint the mountains, I must rise and follow her. -- Bliss Carman |
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