Bright and beautiful art thou, Autumn flowers crown thy brow, Golden-rod and Aster blue, Russet leaf with crimson hue. Half stripped branches waving by, Softly as a lullaby, Tell of summer’s days gone by, Tell that winter’s very nigh.
In the forest cool and chill, Sadly moans the Whippoorwill, Not as in the summer days, When he gloried in his lays, Lower-toned, but sweet and clear, Like thy crisp and fragrant air, Warbling forth with voice sublime, This is nature’s harvest time.