Dorothy Dudley

Autumn, 1916.

THE MIMICS dance in the cities,

Pavlowa in New York;

Death dances in Europe—

Like a bottle without cork,

Life loses its contents—

While the mimics dance in New York,

Offering the glories

Fabled in old stories.

But the leaves dance in the forest,

Gold and scarlet in the north;

And the gray waves dance,

And the wind stalks forth—

Like torn paper lanterns,

Like confetti in the north,

Leaves are whirling about,

A purple pallid rout.

Trees burn among the pines,

Rose and yellow torches;

The summer guests are gone,

Nobody sweeps their porches—

Two or three lumbermen

Among the golden torches

Swing huge sledge hammers,

While the gray lake clambers

Two of them love whiskey,

One has loved the sea;

All of them have faces

The wind has carved in glee.

The mimics dance in the cities,

Death across the sea—

Leaves dance in the north,

And the deer run forth.