The Victory Of Endurance Born.

Glorious Are The Woods In Their Latest Gold And Crimson.

On My Cornice Linger The Ripe Black Grapes Ungathered; Children Fill The Groves With The Echoes Of Their Glee, Gathering Tawny Chestnuts, And Shouting When Beside Them Drops The Heavy Fruit Of The Tall Black-walnut Tree.

That Make The Meadows Green; And, Poured Round All, Old Ocean's Gray And Melancholy Waste,-- Are But The Solemn Decorations All Of The Great Tomb Of Man.

And Kind The Voice And Glad The Eyes That Welcome My Return At Night.

And We Wept That One So Lovely Should Have A Life So Brief.