Frederick G. Tuckerman - and Change with Hurried Hand Has Swept These Scenes

And change with hurried hand has swept these scenes:

The woods have fallen, across the meadow-lot

The hunter's trail and trap-path is forgot,

And fire has drunk the swamps of evergreens;

Yet for a moment let my fancy plant

These autumn hills again: the wild dove's haunt,

The wild deer's walk. In golden umbrage shut,

The Indian river runs, Quonecktacut!

Here, but a lifetime back, where falls tonight

Behind the curtained pane a sheltered light

On buds of rose or vase of violet

Aloft upon the marble mantel set,

Here in the forest-heart, hung blackening

The wolfbait on the bush beside the spring.