Autumn will walk there, with a breath of stardust,
With the burnt brown fronds of bracken in her hair;
Autumn will come with the frost on briar berries,
And clean blue mornings, and smoke-hazed air.
Autumn will run like a boy among the birch trees,
Bittersweet of berries that the birds love on her lips,
With the first frosts crunching in the wet-leaved woodways,
And the last leaf crimson on the maple tips.
Crying of birds will flutter through the forest,
When dawn-rains deepen the turquoise in the pool,
When the bright sun drips from the brown-haired fir tree,
And larch boughs quiver in little winds and cool.
Autumn will come, and I among the redgums
Will feel again the stirring of slender dreams as these:
Bright flax gleaming through the foreign larches,
And a bellbird chiming in the maple trees.