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U ol. n. September, 1900. Ho.
Ere, in the northern gale,
The summer tresse_ of the trees are gone,
The woods of Autumn, all around our vale,
Have put their glory on.
The mountains that infold,
In their wide sweep, the colored landscape
Seem groups of giant kings, in purple and gold,
That guard the enchanted ground.
Oh, Autumn ! why so soon
Depart the hues that make thy forests plad,
Thy gentle wind and thy fair sunny noon,
And leave the wild and sad!
Ah ! 'twere a lot too blest.
Forever in thy colored shades to stray ;
Amid the kisses of the soft southwest
To roam and dream for aye.
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