Classic Poem

The silence of the golden afternoon
Is broken by the chatter of the jay.
What season finds him when he is not gay,
Light-hearted, noisy, singing out of tune,
High-crested, blue as is the sky of June?
'Tis autumn when he comes; the hazy air,
Half-hiding like a veil, lies ev'rywhere,
Full of the memories of summer soon
To fade; leaves, losing hold upon the tree,
Fly helpless in the wintry wind's unrest;
The goldenrod is burning low and fitfully;
The squirrel leaves his leafy summer rest,
Descends and gathers up the nuts that drop,
When lightly shaken, from the hick'ry top.

The silence of the golden afternoon
Is broken by the chatter of the jay.
What season finds him when he is not gay,
Light-hearted, noisy, singing out of tune,
High-crested, blue as is the sky of June?
'Tis autumn when he comes; the hazy air,
Half-hiding like a veil, lies ev'rywhere,
Full of the memories of summer soon
To fade; leaves, losing hold upon the tree,
Fly helpless in the wintry wind's unrest;
The goldenrod is burning low and fitfully;
The squirrel leaves his leafy summer rest,
Descends and gathers up the nuts that drop,
When lightly shaken, from the hick'ry top.