Indian Summer - A poem by Ellen P. Allerton

Indian Summer.

Again the leaves come fluttering down,
   Slowly, silently, one by one^__
Scarlet, and crimson, and gold, and brown,^__
Willing to fall, for their work is done.

And once again comes the dreamy haze,
   Draping the hills with its filmy blue,
And veiling the sun, whose tender rays
With mellowed light come shimmering
through.

Softly it rests on the sleeping lake
This filmy veil^__and the distant shore,
Fringed with tangles of bush and brake,
Shows a dim blue line and nothing more.

The winds are asleep, save now and then
Some wandering breeze comes stealing by,
Softly rises, then sinks again,
And dies away like an infant's sigh.

You feel the spell of these dreamy days
I know^__for your heart is in tune with
mine.
You love the stillness, the tender haze;
   I know for your thoughts with my own
entwine.

But this dreamy calm, this solemn hush,
The sleeping winds, and the mellow glow,
Only foretell the tempest's rush,
The icy blast, and the whirling snow.

We^__you and I must bow to the frost,
When our locks are white with its hoary
kiss;
Our last rose scattered, its petals lost;
May our Indian Summer be calm^__like this.

^__Ellen P. Allerton.

Annabel and Other Poems
Ellen P. Allerton
(New York: John B. Alden, Publisher. 1885)
Pages 148-149