The Ruin Of The Year

AVkih the hills and by tho sleeping (treara A v arning Mis, and al) the glorióos trees- Veetures of gold and (rnund embroideries- Stond mute as in a sad and beautiful droara, Brooding on death and nature's vast undoiog. And spring that camo nn ago ftgo and fled. Oii snramer's glory long sinoe drawn to red, And now tho f all and all the slow, soft ruin, And soon, some day, swoeps by the pillagiag wind, Tho wintor's ivild outrider, with harsh roj:. And loa vos tho meadows eacked and waste aud thimiod, And strips the forest of its polden store, Till the grim tyrant comea, and then they sow Ifee silont wreckaeo, not with salt, tut enow.