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THE FREETHINKER London, England 11 November 1923 (page 718)
Of Autumn.
When the corn turns to gold There’s a wind on the wold, And Autumn brings over Her first hint of cold.
The scent’s in the clover; The swallow’s a rover; Apples are ready From Dryburgh to Dover.
The air tastes more heady Now corn-stocks stand steady; Each air-rillet calls From a curling-swift eddy.
It’s hot by the walls Of the garden; there falls No leaf from the tree, And no cow’s in the stalls.
The green of the lea! The breath of the sea! The sweat of the grass! The toil of the bee!
The sky clear as glass! The air bright as brass! The smell of the mould As the young breezes pass!
Unfold and unfold Ere the year become old; Earth’s glory be told When the corn turns to gold.
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