JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER

AMERICA, 1807-1892

Indian Summer

From gold to gray Our mild, sweet day Of Indian summer fades too soon; 15 But tenderly Above the sea Hangs, white and calm, the hunter's moon.

In its pale fire The village spire 5 Shows like the zodiac's spectral lance; The painted walls Whereon it falls Transfigured stand in marble trance.

ALICE CARY

AMERICA, 1820-1871

November

The leaves are fading and falling, 10 The winds are rough and wild, The birds have ceased their calling, But let me tell you, my child,

Though day by day, as it closes, Doth darker and colder grow, 15 The roots of the bright red roses Will keep alive in the snow.

And when the winter is over The boughs will get new leaves, The quail will come back to the clover, And the swallow back to the eaves.

The robin will wear on his bosom 5 A vest that is bright and new, And the loveliest wayside blossoms Will shine with the sun and dew.

The leaves to-day are whirling, The brooks are all dry and dumb, 10 But let me tell you, my darling, The spring will be sure to come.

There must be rough, cold weather, And winds and rains so wild; Not all good things together 15 Come to us here, my child.

So when some dear joy loses Its beauteous summer glow, Think how the roots of the roses Are kept alive in the snow. 20

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER

The Frost Spirit

He comes,--he comes,--the Frost Spirit comes! You may trace his footsteps now On the naked woods and the blasted fields and the brown hill's withered brow.

He has smitten the leaves of the gray old trees where their pleasant green came forth, And the winds, which follow wherever he goes, have shaken them down to earth.

He comes,--he comes,--the Frost Spirit comes!--from the frozen Labrador,-- 5 From the icy bridge of the Northern seas, which the white bear wanders o'er,-- Where the fisherman's sail is stiff with ice, and the luckless forms below In the sunless cold of the lingering night into marble statues grow!

He comes,--he comes,--the Frost Spirit comes!--on the rushing Northern blast, And the dark Norwegian pines have bowed as his fearful breath went past.

With an unscorched wing he has hurried on, where the fires of Hecla glow On the darkly beautiful sky above and the ancient ice below.

He comes,--he comes,--the Frost Spirit comes!--and the quiet lake shall feel 5 The torpid touch of his glazing breath, and ring to the skater's heel; And the streams which danced on the broken rocks, or sang to the leaning gra.s.s, Shall bow again to their winter chain, and in mournful silence pa.s.s.

He comes,--he comes,--the Frost Spirit comes!--let us meet him as we may, And turn with the light of the parlor-fire his evil power away; And gather closer the circle round, when that firelight dances high, And laugh at the shriek of the baffled Fiend as his sounding wing goes by!

ALFRED TENNYSON

ENGLAND, 1809-1892

The Owl

I

When cats run home and the light is come And the dew is cold upon the ground, 5 And the far-off stream is dumb, And the whirring sail goes round, And the whirring sail goes round; Alone and warming his five wits, The white owl in the belfry sits. 10

II

When merry milkmaids click the latch, And rarely smells the new-mown hay, And the c.o.c.k hath sung beneath the thatch Twice or thrice his roundelay, Twice or thrice his roundelay; Alone and warming his five wits, The white owl in the belfry sits. 5

GEORGE MACDONALD

SCOTLAND, 1824-

The Wind and the Moon

Said the Wind to the Moon, "I will blow you out.

You stare In the air Like a ghost in a chair, Always looking what I am about; 10 I hate to be watched; I will blow you out."

The Wind blew hard, and out went the Moon.

So, deep, On a heap Of clouds, to sleep, Down lay the Wind, and slumbered soon-- Muttering low, "I've done for that Moon."

He turned in his bed; she was there again! 5 On high In the sky, With her one ghost eye, The Moon shone white and alive and plain.

Said the Wind--"I will blow you out again." 10

The Wind blew hard, and the Moon grew dim.

"With my sledge And my wedge I have knocked off her edge!