The busy cranes go back an' forth, a-ploughin' up the sky, The wild goose drag comes down the wind an' goes a-roarin' by; The song-birds sow their music in the blue fields over me An' it seems to grow up into thoughts about the ven'son-tree. The apple-blossoms scatter down—a scented summer snow, An' man an' wind an' cloud an' sun have all begun to sow. The green hopes come a-sproutin' up somewhere inside o' me, An' it's time we ought to see the sprouts upon the ven'son-tree. The velvet leaves the willow an' adorns the ven'son bough, There's new silk in the tree-top an' the coat o' horse an' cow. The woods are trimmed fer weddin's, an' are all in Sunday clo's, An' the bark upon the ven'son-tree is redder than a rose. The days are still an' smoky, an' the nights are growin' cold, The maples are a-drippin' blood, the beeches drippin' gold; The briers are above my head, the brakes above my knee, An' the bark is gettin' kind o' blue upon the ven'son- tree. What makes the big trees shake an' groan as if they all had sinned? 'Tis God A'mighty's reaper with the horses o' the wind. He will hitch with chains o' lightnin', He will urge with thunder call, He will try the rotten-hearted till they reel an' break an' fall. The leaves are driftin' in the breeze, an' gathered where they lie Are the colors o' the sunset an' the smell o' the windy sky; The squirrels whisk, with loaded mouths, an' stop an' say to me: "It's time to gether in the fruit upon the ven'son- tree." "What makes ye look so anxious an' what makes ye speak so low?" "It's 'cause I'm thinkin' of a place where I'm a-goin' to go. "This here I've, been a-tinkerin' which lays acrost my knee "Is the axe that I'm a-usin' fer to fell the ven'son- tree." I've polished up the iron an' I've covered it with ile, Its bit is only half an inch, its helve is half a mile. (The singer blows an imitation of the startled deer) "Whew! what's that so pesky—why, it kind o' frightened me?" "It's the wind a blowin' through the top o' the cute ol' ven'son-tree."
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