Emily Pauline Johnson (Эмили Полин Джонсон)
Autumn’s Orchestra
(INSCRIBED TO ONE BEYOND SEAS) Know by the thread of music woven through This fragile web of cadences I spin, That I have only caught these songs since you Voiced them upon your haunting violin. THE OVERTURE October's orchestra plays softly on The northern forest with its thousand strings, And Autumn, the conductor wields anon The Golden-rod -The baton that he swings. THE FIRS There is a lonely minor chord that sings Faintly and far along the forest ways, When the firs finger faintly on the strings Of that rare violin the night wind plays, Just as it whispered once to you and me Beneath the English pines beyond the sea. MOSSES The lost wind wandering, forever grieves Low overhead, Above grey mosses whispering of leaves Fallen and dead. And through the lonely night sweeps their refrain Like Chopin's prelude, sobbing 'neath the rain. THE VINE The wild grape mantling the trail and tree, Festoons in graceful veils its drapery, Its tendrils cling, as clings the memory stirred By some evasive haunting tune, twice heard. THE MAPLE I It is the blood-hued maple straight and strong, Voicing abroad its patriotic song. II Its daring colours bravely flinging forth The ensign of the Nation of the North. HARE-BELL Elfin bell in azure dress, Chiming all day long, Ringing through the wilderness Dulcet notes of song. Daintiest of forest flowers Weaving like a spell - Music through the Autumn hours, Little Elfin bell. THE GIANT OAK And then the sound of marching armies 'woke Amid the branches of the soldier oak, And tempests ceased their warring cry, and dumb The lashing storms that muttered, overcome, Choked by the heralding of battle smoke, When these gnarled branches beat their martial drum. ASPENS A sweet high treble threads its silvery song, Voice of the restless aspen, fine and thin It trills its pure soprano, light and long - Like the vibretto of a mandolin. FINALE The cedar trees have sung their vesper hymn, And now the music sleeps - Its benediction falling where the dim Dusk of the forest creeps. Mute grows the great concerto - and the light Of day is darkening, Good-night, Good-night. But through the night time I shall hear within The murmur of these trees, The calling of your distant violin Sobbing across the seas, And waking wind, and star-reflected light Shall voice my answering. Good-night, Good-night.
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