William Wilfred Campbell - Indian Summer

Along the line of smoky hills <br />The crimson forest stands, <br />And all the day the blue-jay calls <br />Throughout the autumn lands. <br /> <br />Now by the brook the maple leans <br />With all his glory spread, <br />And all the sumachs on the hills <br />Have turned their green to red. <br /> <br />Now by great marshes wrapt in mist, <br />Or past some river's mouth, <br />Throughout the long, still autumn day <br />Wild birds are flying south.<br /><br />William Wilfred Campbell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/indian-summer-15/