The full ripe year, these maple hills!

The full ripe year, these maple hills!
The pure October weather fills
Earth's veins so full of glowing crimson
That every leaf is ablush, and thrills.

An expectation holds the days,
And angel sunbeams throng the ways;
The luminous skies grow close and tender,
And over all is a brooding haze.

'Tis summer's apotheosis
In flame of color, burning kiss,
As dew dies in the arms of sunlight--
A world of beauty dissolved in bliss.