  The winds are up with wakening day And tumult in the tree; Across the cool and open sky White clouds are streaming free; The new light breaks o’er flood and field Clear like an echoing horn, While in loud flight the crows are blown Athwart the sapphire morn. What tho’ the maple’s scarlet flame Declares the summer done, Tho’ finch and starling voyage south To win a softer sun, What tho’ the withered leaf whirls by To strew the purpling stream,— Stretched are the world’s glad veins with strength, Despair is grown a dream! The acres of the golden rod Are glorious on the hills. Tho storm and loss approach, the year’s High heart upleaps and thrills. Dearest, the cheer, the brave delight, Are given to shame regret, That when the long frost falls, our hearts Be glad, and not forget! |
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