By The Annisquam

A Far bell tinkles in the hollow,     And heart and soul are fain to follow:     Gone is the rose and gone the swallow:     Autumn is here.     The wild geese draw at dusk their harrow     Above the 'Squam the ebb leaves narrow:     The sea-winds chill you to the marrow:     Sad goes the year.     Among the woods the crows are calling:     The acorns and the leaves are falling:     At sea the fishing-boats are trawling:     Autumn is here.     The jay among the rocks is screaming,     And every way with crimson streaming:     Far up the shore the foam is creaming:     Sleep fills the Year.     The chipmunk on the stones is barking;     The red leaf every path is marking,     Where hills lean to the ocean harking:     Autumn is here.     The fields are starry with the aster,     Where Beauty dreams and dim Disaster     Draws near through mists that gather faster:     Farewell, sweet Year.     Beside the coves driftwood is burning,     And far at sea white sails are turning:     Each day seems filled with deeper yearning:     Autumn is here.     "Good-bye! good-bye!" the Summer's saying:     "Brief was my day as songs of Maying:     The time is come for psalms and praying:     Good-bye, sweet Year."     Brown bend the ferns by rock and boulder;     The shore seems greyer; ocean older:     The days are misty; nights are colder:     Autumn is here.     The cricket in the grass is crying,     And sad winds in the old woods sighing;     They seem to say, "Sweet Summer's dying:     Weep for the Year.     "She's wreathed her hair with bay and berry,     And o'er dark pools, the wild-fowl ferry,     Leans dreaming 'neath the wilding cherry:     Autumn is here.     "Good-bye! good-bye to Summer's gladness:     To all her beauty, mirth and madness:     Come sit with us and dream in sadness:     So ends the Year."