At last, after watching and waiting,

Autumn, the beautiful, came,

Stepping with sandals of silver,

Decked with a mantle of flame.

Then Nature, the loving mother,

In the moony month of sheaves,

Arrayed in yellow and crimson,

Her children, the forest leaves.

The leaves clapped their hands, delighted,

And shouted loud in their glee,

They sprang on the back of the north wind,

Which lifted and set them free.

Ha! Thas a glorious riding,

As they leaped along with the blast,