Nutting Song

The November sun invites me,     And although the chill wind smites me,     I will wander to the woodland     Where the laden trees await;     And with loud and joyful singing     I will set the forest ringing,     As if I were king of Autumn,     And Dame Nature were my mate,--     While the squirrel in his gambols     Fearless round about me ambles,     As if he were bent on showing     In my kingdom he'd a share;     While my warm blood leaps and dashes,     And my eye with freedom flashes,     As my soul drinks deep and deeper     Of the magic in the air.     There's a pleasure found in nutting,     All life's cares and griefs outshutting,     That is fuller far and better     Than what prouder sports impart.     Who could help a carol trilling     As he sees the baskets filling?     Why, the flow of song keeps running     O'er the high walls of the heart.     So when I am home returning,     When the sun is lowly burning,     I will once more wake the echoes     With a happy song of praise,--     For the golden sunlight blessing,     And the breezes' soft caressing,     And the precious boon of living     In the sweet November days.