Nutting Song
The November sun invites me,And although the chill wind smites me,I will wander to the woodlandWhere the laden trees await;And with loud and joyful singingI will set the forest ringing,As if I were king of Autumn,And Dame Nature were my mate,—
While the squirrel in his gambolsFearless round about me ambles,As if he were bent on showingIn 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 deeperOf the magic in the air.
There’s a pleasure found in nutting,All life’s cares and griefs outshutting,That is fuller far and betterThan what prouder sports impart.Who could help a carol trillingAs he sees the baskets filling?Why, the flow of song keeps runningO’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 echoesWith a happy song of praise,—For the golden sunlight blessing,And the breezes’ soft caressing,And the precious boon of livingIn the sweet November days.