From Frances Hooker

Cold was the air; the wind blew keen around;

Autumn’s brief day was drawing to its close:—

For fallen leaves you scarce might see the ground,

And giant, naked trunks around me rose.

The glorious; setting sun athwart the stems

Poured forth a golden flood of slanting rays,

Which decked the trees with such resplendent gems,

I could not choose but stand awhile, and gaze.

The red, red sun! a ball of liquid fire:

Tinging the murky haze with rose light;

Touching with gold the unseen village spire,—

Bidding the blushing trees a warm good night.

Slowly his glories paled: his reign was past;

And the white haze proclaimed the frost-king’s power:—

I turned, and through the pine-woods hurried fast,

Filled with the beauties of that fleeting hour.¹

Nov. 6th. 1856.

RI MS JT/1/TYP/8/2799

LT Typescript Only