When the leaves are falling crimson
And the worm is off its feed,
When the rag weed and the jimson
Have agreed to go to seed,
When the air in forest bowers
Has a tang like Rhenish wine,
And to breathe it for two hours
Makes you feel you'd like to dine,
When the frost is on the pumpkin
And the corn is in the shock,
And the cheek of country bumpkin
City faces seems to mock,—
When you come across a ditty
(Like this one) of Autumn's charm,
Then it's pleasant in the city,
Where they keep the houses warm.