Hush! 'tis the time for
Red, red the leaves she strews, golden and red;
Before the fane of the mysterious skies
Meekly she kneels and bows her head.
Hush I for strange incense rises in the air,
Azure and clear, until the glen recedes
And leaves her lone on her gray mosses there
To tell her rowan beads.
hush! for the pilgrim
birch trees climb the hill
And bend their brows within the holy haze,
Or rapt in reverie austere and still
Lean on their silver staffs to gaze;
Hush for no stir disturbs the peace profound
Save wan leaves wandering to their destiny,
Yon fir-cone falling on the ancient mound
That knells the year for me.
-SARAH ROBERTSON MATHESON.