A blupete Poetry pick

"An Indian Summer Carol"

All day the dreamy sunshine seeps
In gold the yellowing beeches,
In softest blue the river sleeps
Among the island reaches.

Against the distant purple hills
Rich autumn tints are glowing;
Its blood-red wine the sumach spills,
Deep hues of carmine showing.

Upon the glassy stream the boat
Glides softly, like a vision;
And, with its shadow, seems to float
Among the isles Elysian.

About the plumy golden-rod
The tireless bee is humming,
While crimson blossoms star the sod
And wait the rover's coming.

The birch and maple glow with dyes
of scarlet, rose, and amber;
And, like a flame from sunset skies
The tangled creepers clamber.

The oaks a royal purple wear
Gold-crowned where sunlight presses;
The birch stands like a Dryad fair
Beneath her golden tresses.

So still the air -- so like a dream --
We hear the acorn falling;
And, o'er the scarcely rippled stream,
The loon's long-quavered calling.

The robin softly, o'er the lea,
A farewell song in trilling;
The squirrel flits from tree to tree
Its winter storehouse filling.


Like him, we too may gather store
from all this glorious Nature;
Then, leave, my friend, your bookish lore
And dreary nomenclature.


Leave the old thinkers to their dreams,
The treasures of the ages;
leave dusty scientific reams,
And study Nature's pages.


Her poetry is better far
Than all men write about her;
Old Homer's song of love and war
Had scarce been sung without her.


Haste to the wood, -- put books away,
They'll wait the tardy comer;
For them there's many a winter day,
But brief's our Indian summer!

-- "Fidelis."
(As to who "Fidelis" is, I have no idea.
I understand him to be a Canadian poet.)
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2011

Peter Landry