Pale, golden sunshine seeps through amber leaves

Across the woodland path,

And by the brook the purple asters bloom,

Gay summer's aftermath.

The far-off hillsides hung with dim blue haze

Foretell the coming cold,

And in the corners of the old rail fence

The noisy squirrels scold.

The air is like a crystal-frosted drink,

Flavored with nectar sweet,

From autumn flowers that grow beside the hedge

Where wood and cornfield meet.

And now the Lord, the Master Artist, paints,

In colors soft and gay,

Upon the mellowed canvas of the earth,

A bright September day.