Above the slim trees' gold and red 'A thousand swallows whirl and thread An airy measure, dipping low Where in the streets an afterglow: Of autumn leaves is lightly spread For any passer-by to tread To nothing neath his careless fect They touch with blue wings swift and sweet Glimmers of amber, brown, and green Red, lemon-gold and silver-sheen Their vivid brethren lying there With every passing wind aflare, Dritting and lifting, higher, higher, Like some lone gypsy's leaping fire.
Elizabeth 8. Fleming.
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.