Of all seasons, give me the Autumn, the leaf. In the early hours, I, an old lover in love with the woods, go forth to listen to their undersong and pause, half expectant, waiting to hear unimagined music. Nor do I wholly wait in vain, for the air thrills with a mystical Benediction. The tragic tangle of our life lies far away. The golden chestnuts yonder, that crest the rising hills, are transfigured in the Joy of the morning. I walk through the land of the poets, and breathe the fragrance of its carpet of fallen leaves. At such a moment who is so blind as not to see above the Amaranth heights of Earth, a phantome tracery beyond! And when the red sunshine kindles upon the Garden of Eden, a mist sheen floats in the radiant distance—as it were the incense of Peace and sweet remembrance . . . and the loves of by-gone days.
Autumn Gold by John Kirkrapine