Explore "An Autumn Treasure-Trove" by Eugene Field on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
'Tis the time of the year's sundown, and flame / Hangs on the maple bough; / And June is the faded flower of a name; / The thin hedge hides not a singer now.
Yet rich am I; for my treasures be / The gold afloat in my willow-tree.
Sweet morn on the hillside dripping with dew, / Girded with blue and pearl, / Counts the leaves afloat in the streamlet too; / As the love-lorn heart of a wistful girl, / She sings while her soul brooding tearfully / Sees a dream of gold in the willow-tree.
All day pure white and saffron at eve, / Clouds awaiting the sun / Turn them at length to ghosts that leave / When the moon's white path is slowly run / Till the morning comes, and with joy for me / O'er my gold agleam in the willow-tree.
The lilacs that blew on the breast of May / Are an old and lost delight; / And the rose lies ruined in his careless way / As the wind turns the poplars underwhite, / Yet richer am I for the autumn; see / All my misty gold in the willow-tree.