Edgar Albert Guest

20 August 1881 - 5 August 1959 / Birmingham / England


The leaves are falling one by one,
The Summer days are past and gone,
The nights are cool and damp;
The little children think it strange
At tea-time, for they note the change,
We have to light the lamp;
To roost the chickens earlier go,
And everything has ceased to grow.

The pumpkins now are big and round,
And turning yellow on the ground,
The leaves are drifting down;
The farm seems bigger than before,
'T is stripped of all its wondrous store;
Only the russets brown
Still linger on the trees, and they
Will soon be picked and packed away.

The cellar's stored with rare delights
To while away the winter nights;
The squeaking cider mill
Is gushing forth its nectar rare,
A drink that all the gods call fair;
And O, the world is still;
A hush has settled over all,
The Summer's gone and it is Fall.
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