HOW THE LEAVES CAME DOWN 81

We careless folk the deed forgot;
'Till one day, idly walking,

We marked upon the self-same spot
A crowd of vet'rans talking.

They shook their trembling heads and

gray

With pride and noiseless laughter; When, well-a-day! they blew away, And ne'er were heard of after!

SUSAN COOLIDGE

(SARAH CHAUNCEY WOOLSEY)

AMERICA, 1845

How the Leaves came Down

"I'll tell you how the leaves came down."
The great tree to his children said,
"You're getting sleepy, Yellow and
Brown,

Yes, very sleepy, little Red,
It is quite time to go to bed."

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"Ah!" begged each silly, pouting leaf,

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Let us a little longer stay;

Dear Father Tree, behold our grief;
"Tis such a very pleasant day
We do not want to go away."

So, for just one more merry day
To the great tree the leaflets clung,
Frolicked and danced, and had their way,
Upon the autumn breezes swung,
Whispering all their sports among.

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Perhaps the great tree will forget, And let us stay until the spring, If we all beg, and coax, and fret."

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But the great tree did no such thing;
He smiled to hear them whispering.

Come, children, all to bed," he cried;
And ere the leaves could urge their

prayer,

He shook his head, and far and wide,

Fluttering and rustling everywhere,

Down sped the leaflets through the air.

WIZARD FROST

I saw them; on the ground they lay,
Golden and red, a huddled swarm,
Waiting till one from far away,

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White bedclothes heaped upon her arm, Should come to wrap them safe and

warm.

The great bare tree looked down and smiled.

"Good night, dear little leaves," he

said;

And from below each sleepy child

Replied, "Good night," and murmured, 'It is so nice to go to bed!"

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FRANK DEMPSTER SHERMAN

AMERICA, 1860

Wizard Frost

Wondrous things have come to pass
On my square of window-glass.

Looking in it I have seen

Grass no longer painted green,

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Trees whose branches never stir,
Skies without a cloud to blur,
Birds below them sailing high,
Church-spires pointing to the sky,
And a funny little town

Where the people, up and down
Streets of silver, to me seem
Like the people in a dream,
Dressed in finest kinds of lace:
'Tis a picture on a space
Scarcely larger than the hand,
Of a tiny Switzerland,

Which the wizard Frost has drawn
'Twixt the nightfall and the dawn.
Quick! and see what he has done
Ere 'tis stolen by the Sun.

SAMUEL F. SMITH

AMERICA, 1808-1895

America

My country, 'tis of thee,

Sweet land of liberty,

Of thee I sing;

AMERICA

Land where my fathers died,
Land of the Pilgrims' pride,
From every mountain side
Let freedom ring!

My native country, thee
Land of the noble free
Thy name I love;

I love thy rocks and rills,
Thy woods and templed hills;
My heart with rapture thrills,
Like that above.

Let music swell the breeze,
And ring from all the trees
Sweet freedom's song;

Let mortal tongues awake;
Let all that breathe partake;
Let rocks their silence break,
The sound prolong.

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