'Tis sunrise o'er the eastern hills.

All hail! thou lovely morn!

Thy tender blush, thy mellow light

Proclaim "The autumn's born."

All nature is so wondrous fair,

Bedecked with golden sheen—

A fleecy cloudlet, here and there,

In azure sky is seen.

The gold and crimson leaves that give

The trees their autumn gown,

Are scattered by the gentle breeze

Upon the meadows brown.

Tho' summer flow'rs that were so fair

Have faded, one by one,

The goldenrod, in beauty rare,

Her reign has just begun.

The grapevines now are laden with

Sweet clusters, oh, so blue!

And scattered o'er the orchard ground

Are rosy apples, too.

Oh, who could sigh for summer skies,

For summer flowers and trees,

For singing birds and rainbow showers,

'Mid autumn scenes like these?

As sinks the glorious "King of Day"

Adown the western sky,

He bathes the trees and hilltops in

A flood of crimson dye.

He sets the westland all aglow

Before he sinks away;

So endeth, as a beauteous dream,

This lovely autumn day.