Classic Poem

When the trees their ballots cast,
And the forests all are polled,
Which will win the suffrage vast —
Crimson leaves or leaves of gold?

In the radiant autumn days,
Silently on hill and wold,
Through the amber-tinted haze,
Fall the leaves of red and gold —

Leaves that keep the cruel stain
Of the blood of brothers dead,
Symbols of a nation's pain:
Count them sadly — leaves of red;

Leaves that hold the mellow light
Of the stars on banner-fold,
Symbols of enduring right:
Count them gladly — leaves of gold;

Emblems those of dire defeat,
Emblems these of courage bold;
Which will triumph, which is meet —
Crimson leaves or leaves of gold?

By the record of the past,
By that story proudly told,
By fair freedom won at last,
Crimson yields to leaves of gold.

By the faith that conquers doubt,
Right will triumph as of old.
See! The red is fading out,
Clearer glow the tints of gold.

So, when all the leaves are cast,
And the forest vote is polled,
With a suffrage wide and vast
Victory crowns the leaves of gold.