Hoyt & Roberts, comps. Hoyts New Cyclopedia of Practical Quotations. 1922.
October turned my maples leaves to gold; The most are gone now; here and there one lingers; Soon these will slip from out the twigs weak hold, Like coins between a dying misers fingers. T. B. AldrichMaple Leaves.
No clouds are in the morning sky, The vapors hug the stream, Who says that life and love can die In all this northern gleam? At every turn the maples burn, The quail is whistling free, The partridge whirs, and the frosted burs Are dropping for you and me. Ho! hillyho! heigh O! Hillyho! In the clear October morning. E. C. StedmanAutumn Song.