Fire! Fire! Upon the maple-bough the red flames of the frost!
Fire! Fire! by burning woodbine, see, the cottage roof is crossed!
The hills are hid by smoky haze! Look! how the road-side sumachs blaze!
And on the withered grass below, fallen leaves like bonfires glow!
Come, let us hasten to the woods, before the sight is lost~
We stand among the fallen leaves young children at our play,
And laugh to see the yellow things go rustling on their way.
" The Autumn is old, the sere leaves are flying: He hath gathered up Gold,
and now he is dying old age, begin sighing!"
Taken from a volume of St. Nicholas 1888.