Poems (Ford)/The Twilight of the Year

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THE TWILIGHT OF THE YEAR.
The twilight of the year has come, And Autumn's ruddy cheekIs raised to meet the icy kiss Of Winter, stern and bleak;The flowers that, bright as angel smiles, Beamed round us, disappear,And coldly, sadly closes in The twilight of the year.
Out in the solemn, shaded aisles Of forests dark and dim, ​In mournful cadence Nature chants The year's sad vesper-hymn;Her organis the moaning wind,— Its notes so wild and drear,Sighed through the falling leaves, proclaim The twilight of the year.
In strains of grand, wild harmony Her pealing anthem rolls;Like voices from the silent dead It thrills our listening souls;It whispers of departed ones That memory still holds dear,Who in thy shadows fell asleep, Sad twilight of the year.
Oh, moaning wind of Autumn, now Thy voice with mournful wailSweeps many a dreary hill and plain Where camp-fires glimmer pale,Like waning stars seen through the gloom— Where those our hearts hold dearAre thinking of us as they watch This twilight of the year.
Above the gory fields of strife Where fell the true and brave,Thy sad voice chants a requiem O'er many a hero's grave; ​But not yet o'er a Nation's tomb, Nor Freedom's gory bier,Is wrapped thy shroud of withered leaves, Pale twilight of the year.
May He who paints the Autumn leaves, And bids them fade and fall,Whose bounteous hand is ever held In mercy over all,Send heaven-born peace, on angel wings, Our hearts and homes to cheer,And smile away the strife that clouds This twilight of the year.
1862.

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