November!
The forest is bleak and bare,
And the leaves are brown and dying;
While
over the hill with a biting chill
Comes the autumn winds a-sighing.
A
startled deer in the forest glade
Looks up while a twig is breaking,
And
face to face, with consummate grace,
Two “dears” stand silently quaking.
Arrayed
in the garb of a huntress bold,
Her steel in the sunlight gleaming,
Waits
the hunting maid, as tho’ half afraid
Of the deer with its soft eyes teeming.
A
moment, and then with a leisure step
It strolls to the woodland cover,
While
the huntress fair, with a grateful air,
Seems glad the “adventure” is over.
Feb.
17, 1901
No comments:
Post a Comment