The world puts on its robes of glory now;
The very flowers are tinged with deeper dyes;
The waves are bluer, and the angels pitch
Their shining tents along the sunset skies.
The distant hills are crowned with purple mist;
The days are mellow, and the long, calm nights,
To wondering eyees like weird magicians show
The shifting splendors of the Northern Lights.
The generous earth spreads out her fruitful stores,
And all the fields are decked with ripened sheaves;
While in the woods, at Autumn's rustling step,
The maples blush through all their trembling leaves.
by Albert Laighton ~ 1829-1887