William Wilfred Campbell

(1858 - 1918 / Ontario)

Indian Summer - Poem by William Wilfred Campbell

Along the line of smoky hills
The crimson forest stands,
And all the day the blue-jay calls
Throughout the autumn lands.

Now by the brook the maple leans
With all his glory spread,
And all the sumachs on the hills
Have turned their green to red.

Now by great marshes wrapt in mist,
Or past some river's mouth,
Throughout the long, still autumn day
Wild birds are flying south.

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, April 15, 2010

Poem Edited: Saturday, May 7, 2011

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