Already
ALREADY the dandelions
Are changed into vanishing ghosts;
Already the tall ripe grasses
Are standing in serried hosts,
Bowing with stately gesture
Whenever the warm winds blow,
Like the spear-heads of an army
Charging against the foe.
Already the nestling sparrows
Are clothed in a mist of gray,
And under the breast of the swallow
The warm eggs stir to-day.
Already the cricket is busy
With hints of soberer days,
And the goldenrod lights slowly
Its torch for the autumn blaze.
O brief, bright smile of summer!
O days divine and dear!
The voices of winter’s sorrow
Already we can hear.
And we know that the frosts will find us,
And the smiling skies grow rude,
While we look in the face of Beauty,
And worship her every mood.
