| |
| WHEN the gray lake-water rushes | |
| Past the dripping alder-bushes, | |
| And the bodeful autumn wind | |
| In the fir-tree weeps and hushes,— | |
| |
| When the air is sharply damp | 5 |
| Round the solitary camp, | |
| And the moose-bush in the thicket | |
| Glimmers like a scarlet lamp,— | |
| |
| When the birches twinkle yellow, | |
| And the cornel bunches mellow, | 10 |
| And the owl across the twilight | |
| Trumpets to his downy fellow,— | |
| |
| When the nut-fed chipmunks romp | |
| Through the maples’ crimson pomp, | |
| And the slim viburnum flashes | 15 |
| In the darkness of the swamp,— | |
| |
| When the blueberries are dead, | |
| When the rowan clusters red, | |
| And the shy bear, summer-sleekened, | |
| In the bracken makes his bed,— | 20 |
| |
| On a day there comes once more | |
| To the latched and lonely door, | |
| Down the wood-road striding silent, | |
| One who has been here before. | |
| |
| Green spruce branches for his head, | 25 |
| Here he makes his simple bed, | |
| Crouching with the sun, and rising | |
| When the dawn is frosty red. | |
| |
| All day long he wanders wide | |
| With the gray moss for his guide, | 30 |
| And his lonely axe-stroke startles | |
| The expectant forest-side. | |
| |
| Toward the quiet close of day | |
| Back to camp he takes his way, | |
| And about his sober footsteps | 35 |
| Unafraid the squirrels play. | |
| |
| On his roof the red leaf falls, | |
| At his door the blue jay calls, | |
| And he hears the wood-mice hurry | |
| Up and down his rough log walls; | 40 |
| |
| Hears the laughter of the loon | |
| Thrill the dying afternoon,— | |
| Hears the calling of the moose | |
| Echo to the early moon. | |
| |
| And he hears the partridge drumming, | 45 |
| The belated hornet humming,— | |
| All the faint, prophetic sounds | |
| That foretell the winter ’s coming. | |
| |
| And the wind about his eaves | |
| Through the chilly night-wet grieves, | 50 |
| And the earth’s dumb patience fills him, | |
| Fellow to the falling leaves. | |
| |
