Autumn / Edgar A. Guest

I want to come to autumn
with the silver in my hair,
and maybe have the children stop
to look at me and stare;
I'd like to reach october
free from blemish or from taint,
as splendid as a maple tree which
artists love to paint.

I'd like to come to autumn,
with my life work fully done
and look a little like a tree
that's gleaming in the sun;
I'd like to think that
I at last could come through care and tears
and be as fair to look upon
as every elm appears.

But when I reach October,
full contented I shall be
if those with whom I've walked through life
shall still have faith in me;
Nor shall I dread the winter's frost,
when brain and body tire,
if I have made my life a thing which
others can admire.

Splash of scarlet, splash of gold,
Mornings touched with autumn's cold,
Weary fields beneath the sun
Resting with their labor done.
Scythe and sickle put away.
Night is longer now than day.

Later now the sun to rise.
Gone are birds and butterflies.
Just a few brave blossoms stay,
Relics of their kindred gay
Still with courage carrying on
'Till their strength is wholly gone.