The thoughts of all the maples who shall name, <br />When the sad landscape turns to cold and grey? <br />Yet some for very ruth and sheer dismay, <br />Hearing the northwind pipe the winter's name, <br />Have fired the hills with beaconing clouds of flame; <br />And some with softer woe that day by day, <br />So sweet and brief, should go the westward way, <br />Have yearned upon the sunset with such shame, <br />That all their cheeks have turned to tremulous rose; <br />Others for wrath have turned a rusty red, <br />And some that knew not either grief or dread, <br />Ere the old year should find its iron close, <br />Have gathered down the sun's last smiles acold, <br />Deep, deep, into their luminous hearts of gold.<br /><br />Archibald Lampman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/autumn-maples/
