Classic Poem

Awake, O Muse, from this dull lethargy
Of doleful thoughts to sweet reality!
The Autumn spells not death as thou dost say;
'Tis not the harbinger of drear dismay,
Forebodings dark, reflections dire and sad,
But fitting time for themes all gay and glad!
'Tis twilight of the year, the eventide—
The time for hearth-stones, genial and wide;
The time when blazing logs begin to weave
Their wondrous spells for weary ones at eve,
When at the earlier setting of the sun,
They pause at last from labors nobly done;
Refreshment time that fitly leads us on
To dreamy hours of rest that come anon.
Awake! Be glad! Give doleful thoughts surcease,
And sing the Joys of Twilight and of Peace!