Bulged from its cup the dark brown acorn falls,
And by its gnarly saucer, in the stream’s
Clear puddles, swells; the sweet-gum’s spike-crowned balls
Beside them lie; and, opening all their seams,
Beneath the chestnut-tree the hurry hulls
Split, and, within, each nut like copper gleams.
Burst silver white, nods,—an exploded husk
Of snowy, woolly smoke,—the milk-weed’s puff
Along the orchard’s fence; where in the dusk
And ashen weeds,—as some grim Satyr’s rough
Red, breezy cheeks burn through his beard,—the brusque
Crab-apples glow, wind-tumbled from above.
And under withered leaves the crickets’ clicks
Seem some dim dirge sighed into memory’s ears;
One bird sits in the sumach, flits and picks
Its sour seeds. Thro’ all the wood one hears
The dropping hickories. Round the hay’s railed ricks,
Among the fields, gather the lowing steers.
Some slim, bud-bound Leimoniad hath flocked,
Like birds, the flowers, herding from their homes
To warmer woods and skies. Where once were rocked
Unnumbered bees within unnumbered blooms,
One feeble bee clings to one bloom, or, locked
Within it, dreams of summer’s oozing combs.
Winds shake the maples, and all suddenly
A storm of leafy stars around you freaks,—
Some Dryad’s tattered raiment. To her knee
Wading, the Naiad haunts her stream that streaks
Through woodland waifs. Hark! Pan for Helike
Flutes in the forest, while he seeks and seeks.