The Crown of the Year

Ah, happy morning of autumn sweet,

Yet ripe and rich with summer's heat.

Near me each humble flower and weed——

The dock's rich umber, gone to seed,

The hawk-bit's gold, the bayberry's spice,

One late wild rose beyond all price;

Each is a friend and all are dear,

Pathetic signs of the waning year.

The painted rose-leaves, how they glow!

Like crimson wine the woodbines show;

The wholesome yarrow's clusters fine,

Like frosted silver dimly shine;

And who thy quaintest charm shall tell,

Thou little scarlet pimpernel?

In the mellow, golden autumn days,

When the world is zoned in their purple haze,

A spirit of beauty walks abroad,

That fills the heart with peace of God;

The spring and summer may bless and cheer,

But autumn brings us the crown o' the year.