The Indianapolis journal., 1903-11-15
THE JOURNALS POETS.


One learned professor. wise sais-tout
From out his mighty box Of knowledge,
Has had recent overflow
OF wisdom at his famous college.
And argued Indian summer OF
The chart of facts. with pond'rous reason.
Made all her happy days a scof,
And said, in terms, there's no such season.
In vain. round the horizons rim.
The smoke of mouldering fires arises.
In vain the ruddy grows dim.
When mist and haze work their surprises;
In vain the ripe leaves patter down
To form rich carpets. red and yellow;
Fair Indian summers lost her crown"
Ayers this dapper college fellow.
o wise sails tout. our hearts sad;
Add no more dead weights to our crosses!
Were neither good nor very bad.
But wherefore multiply our losses?
Take what you must, but spare our dreams
Each dear old dream and rare illusion
When mystery-haunted woods and streams
With summer crown the falls conclusion!
We know each tinge and fairy tint
The heeting thrills. the old sensations.
Each tender. melancholy hint
And all the seasons Indications;
We watch the mellow. dying blaze
But wherefrom comes this golden haze
II there's no good old Indian summer?
Where now the feasts of harvest home,
The festivals and friendly meetings.
The welcomes given to those who roam,
The honest Indian summer greetings7
How fares it with ''the hunters moon,"
That blushed above the hunts confusion,
Since learning. In times afternoon,
Declares her reign a cheap illusion?
No more the stag shall fee. at morn,
Before the bowman's sly approaches:
No more the driver wind bis horn.
Nor speed through golden dust. his coaches;
No more shall come the cavalcade
When Indian-summer weddings flourish.
Since this learned pedagogue has made
Such debris of the dreams we cherish
Professor-let me speak II low
1t seems to me. with all your graces.
| You know too much that isn't so
And bank too much on commonplaces.
| The Indian summers than dream:
! Your logic wrongs both fact and reason;
| Go walk by field and wood and stream
And learn. for once. there's such a season!
| Fragrance Of spice. pawpaws and mipts
Await your doubling. bluntei senses;
| Through many a maze OF varied tints
| The wauhoo flames by crooked fences.
| The turkeys gobble guineas ciack
| And boys go whistling lovers ditties.
| While farmer lads come trooping back
From books or desks in tiresome cities.
| You might as well come say to these.
"Henceforth theren be no Indian summsrr'
| As overturn hive OF bees
| And hope to dodge each angry hummer!
| In practice. either enterprise
Might peril much your beauty's blossom.
| And 'twould be far more worldly wise
/ To play the seasons silent 'possum-
| Old Indian summer. dreamy. rare.
With nuts and golden pippins mellow,
| Is just about fair and square
A deal q er dealt fellow:
And you. Dear Doctor Know-it-all.
Go to. with all your fierce negation!
Old Indian summers got the call
On muscle, mind and inclination.
| Her reign. II may be short or long.
But she's a queen to all conditions;
Unto her shrine the people throng,
Enjoy her raptures and provisions:
| The hunters priestess, farmers friend;
To praise her every has reason,
| And he was born to some bad end
Who scowls and storms. there's no such sc
| son.
New Castle. Ind. Ben s. Parker