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There is a dreamy look in her downcast eyes as she
recalls vanished pleasures, while she idly toys
with the vine leaves in her lap. The falling leaves
flutter about her in an amber shower; the soft breeze
bears upon its wings the dying breath of hundreds
of fading flowers, the birds in their Southern flight
circle languidly above her head—even her faithful
watch dog stands-patiently awaiting his mistress'
pleasure. The world seems at peace, and happily
the maiden dreams on. She makes a pretty picture
as she reclines on the fallen log, gathering together
these flowers of remembrance—to weave with the beauteous
garland of fancy, where, as life's mellow autumn
steals on, they may be embalmed in memory forever
and evermore.
Excerpt from American Agriculturalist, Vol.
XLI-No. 10, October 1882.
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