What though my years are falling like thy leaves, Oh, Autumn! When the winds are plumed with night-- They have thy colors, thy enameled light, And all the fullness of thy ripened sheaves. Of verdant joys aggressive Time bereaves, And the glad transports of unclouded dawn; But though the shadows deepen on Life's lawn, Rays of serene and solemn beauty shed A mellow lustre on my fading hours, And with a calm and tempered joy I tread Paths still bedecked with iridescent flowers-- Like thine, oh, Autumn! ere the sober gray Of Winter steals thy glorious tints away.