AUTUMN VERSES

Waikato Times, Volume 122, Issue 20464, 2 April 1938, Page 21 (Supplement)

AUTUMN VERSES

AUTUMN Yellow* the bracken, Golden the sheaves, Rosy the apples, Crimson the leaves; Mist on the hillsides Clouds grey and white, Autumn, “ Good Morning,” Summer, Good Night.” CHESTNUTS Chestnuts come with Autumn Harvests rich and brown Lie tempting on a carpet, The bare trees have flung down. Prickly burrs are everywhere Shining through their green, Warm browm nuts are peeping Waiting to be seen. Chestnuts brown are popping In the glowing coals, Autumn’s warm browm harvest Through the wide grate rolls. AUTUMN BEAUTY Slow falling leaves, that drop like golden rain From trees which shimmer in the evening sun, Green spring and radiant summer both have passed, And soon the reign of autumn will be done. Her lamps of flame are lit in quiet woods, In burning beauty of the haws and hips, While rowan magic, like a ruby crown Upon the river’s mirror, redly drips. And webs of gossamer with diamonds cling To russet bracken and the heather bells, While through her soft blue silence oft there floats The whisper music of her sad farewells. —Edith A. Vassie.

AUTUMN’B GOLD Tho’s summer blushed with roses bold, Yet would I sing of autumn's gold; Its bronzing oaks, its tinted leaves, The glory of its golden sheaves. The trees in shedding leaves around With red and russet strew the ground; Whilst gardens smile with rosy grace Where scarlet creepers interlace. Soft clinging mists at purple dusk Are perfumed oft with scent of musk; Warm sunset splendours paint the sky As autumn days are passing by. TheTi why not sing of autumn’s gold Since spring and summer themes are old? For, though its shadings mark decline, They speak of harmony divine. —Alice Gent. AUTUMN Comes autumn’s harbinger, nobly fulfilling The vows of the blossoms in spring; Comes she resplendent, with grace in her bounty, Before us earth’s harvest to bring. Ebb of the summer tide, languid and restful, The fruits of our sowings are here; Now is the glory of sweet consummation, Reward of the labouring year. Bent o’er yon mossy wall hang the red apples, Fairy lamps set in the tree; Down in the valley there ripe cprn ripples And gleams like a gold-spangled sea. Thrice blessed visitant, cheerful in giving, Saluting your coming I raise My arms to the sky to bid you a welcome, My voice in singing thy praise. —Matt Freeland.