AUTUMN TEA TIME

The late light falls across the floor,

Turned amber from a yellow tree,—

And there are yellow cups for four,

And lemon for the tea.

The maples, with a million flames,

Have lit the golden afternoon,

An ambient radiance that shames

The ineffective moon....

Till dull and smoky greys return,

Quenching the street with chills and damps —

Leaving these asters where they burn,

Mellow like evening lamps.