The Merry Wind
The merry wind came racing
Adown the hills one day,
In gleeful frolic chasing
The rustling leaves away.
In clouds of red and yellow,
He whirled the leaves along,
And then the jolly fellow
He sang a cheery song.
The merry wind was weary
At last of fun and play;
His voice grew faint and eerie,
And softly died away.
Far off a crow was calling
And in the mellow sun
The painted leaves kept falling
And fading, one by one.
Mary Mapes Dodge.