Winter Is Near

Golden and red trees nod to the soft breeze,

As it whispers, "Winter is near;"

And the brown nuts fall at the wind's loud call,

For this is the Fall of the year.

Good-by, sweet flowers! Through bright Summer hours

You have filled our hearts with cheer

We shall miss you so, and yet you must go,

For this is the Fall of the year.

Now the days grow cold, as the year grows old,

And the meadows are brown and sere;

Brave robin redbreast has gone from his nest,

For this is the Fall of the year.

Poem by

Ellen Robena Field, 

USA, 1894