I love to see that strip of gold
On mellow-orchard tree,
On bending bough, and fading leaf
That flutters to the lea.
I love to see those sailing clouds,
That float at peaceful ease,
That skim and swim a sea of blue,
A sky of silent peace.
I love to hear the tinkling brook
Sing past upon its way,
And make a lulling tranquil song,
On sombre Autumn day.
I love to wake in early morn
And see the weeping ash,
And watch its crystal tears fall down,
A little sparkling splash.
When day’s last ray of gold is gone
And sweetly sinks to rest,
The blackbird’s song I love to hear,
For then he tunes his best.
The pine-tree stately in the dark,
His whispering song I hear.
With arms outflung he softly tells
When creeping night draws near.
Bertie Robinson Age 13