The end of summer

   Autumn.

    By Emily  Dickinson 

    The morns are meeker than they were,
    The nuts are getting brown;
    The berry's cheek is plumper,
    The rose is out of town.

    The maple wears a gayer scarf,
    The field a scarlet gown.
    Lest I should be old-fashioned,
    I'll put a trinket on.