  ’Tis autumn and down in the fields The buckwheat is browning still: Gather yourself in your cloak, The winter is over the hill. There’s a cloud of black in the north, The aurora is smouldering behind, There are stars in the parting clouds, And a touch of frost in the wind. Down in the icy dew The crickets are cheering shrill: “There is time for another song, Though winter is over the hill.” The aurora leaps and flies, Pushing its phosphor spikes In the deeps of the violet skies. The moon is wrapped in a film, She looks wan and chill: Gather yourself in your cloak, The winter is over the hill.
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