The yellow leaves are falling fast,
The frost forms on the window glass,
And brown has turned the meadow grass,
For Fall is here.
The hunter now takes down his gun
And stealthily trails from sun to sun,
Until the deadly deed is done:
He bags a deer.
The boys get out their traps and snares,
In readiness for mink and hares;
They trap the bay-lynx and the bear
Without a gun.
Long since the traps are gathered in
To fill the barrel and the bin;
The threshing done with all its din
For yet a year.