'Tis the time of the year's sundown, and flame <br />Hangs on the maple bough; <br />And June is the faded flower of a name; <br />The thin hedge hides not a singer now. <br />Yet rich am I; for my treasures be <br />The gold afloat in my willow-tree. <br /> <br />Sweet morn on the hillside dripping with dew, <br />Girded with blue and pearl, <br />Counts the leaves afloat in the streamlet too; <br />As the love-lorn heart of a wistful girl, <br />She sings while her soul brooding tearfully <br />Sees a dream of gold in the willow-tree. <br /> <br />All day pure white and saffron at eve, <br />Clouds awaiting the sun <br />Turn them at length to ghosts that leave <br />When the moon's white path is slowly run <br />Till the morning comes, and with joy for me <br />O'er my gold agleam in the willow-tree. <br /> <br />The lilacs that blew on the breast of May <br />Are an old and lost delight; <br />And the rose lies ruined in his careless way <br />As the wind turns the poplars underwhite, <br />Yet richer am I for the autumn; see <br />All my misty gold in the willow-tree.<br /><br />Eugene Field<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/an-autumn-treasure-trove/
