An Invitation
Come where the hills are heaped together
For the winds are glistening with wings,
And Autumn's dull flowers droop and wither
Where, down by the North, the last leaf swings.
I know where a bright well gurgles up
Looping the ferns with a shining tress,
And the wild convolvulus reaches her cup
Out on the bee-glad sunniness.
And there we may learn of flower and wing
The true delight of her seasons four,
As the last leaf down on the north wind swings
And the south throws open her warm blue door.