Whenas October putteth on
Her bravery of green and gold
And far horizons dimly don
A purple veil of filmy fold,
When days are warm and nights are cold--
Dawn hath a frosted coronal--
Then I betake me, as of old,
To nut-trees--hickory, ches-, and wal-.
The song birds gather and are gone
To where the year is summer-souled.
The squirrels scamper in the sun,
The blue jays in the orchard scold.
The quail are whistling in the wold
(Rare word, that fits a madrigal),
While forth we go, with spirits bold,
To nut-trees--hickory, ches-, and wal-.
Time was when I as climber shone,
But younger legs must now take hold,
And younger shins be barked upon
The shell-bark, grievous to be tholed.
(These fruits drupaceous, I am told,
In proteid value are not small.)
But now my gay ballade is trolled
To nut-trees--hickory, ches-, and wal-.