Colour

There's colour in the woodlands as far as eye can reach,
Pale gold upon the elm-tree and bronze upon the beech;
To witch the world with beauty a hundred hues ally -
But bonniest is the scarlet when a Whip rides by.
On towers of brown and crimson, on roofs of royal gold
The banners of the autumn their splendid tints unfold,
And no one will their wonder, their magic lure deny -
Yet dearer is the scarlet when a Whip rides by.
Ah! Bright September woodlands, your magic only means
That summer’s life is ebbing on the bed your beauty screens;
Not all your painted pennons on all your towers so high
Can match one patch of scarlet when a whip rides by!