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[Newspaper clipping]

Exit October.
The wayside weeds were white with
frost, the morning air was cold,
I saw a gipsy lass who danced on fall-
en leaves of gold,
She wore a scarf of amber silk, a scar-
let petticoat,
And hops of garnets in her ears, and
coral at her throat.
She flung the yellow leaves aloft, and
strewed them far and wide,
"Come, see my gold, and help yourself,
for I am rich," she cried,
"The sky is blue, the sun is bright, the
world from care is free,
I am October, prithee, shake a merry
leg with me."

A snowflake drifted on the wind, the
day began to wane,
A vagrant in a ragged coat came shuf-
fling down the lane.
The gold (alas! 'twas fairy gold, the
glitter that deceived)
Beneath his stumbling feet was turned
to heaps of withered leaves.
He lifted up his peevish voice, and call-
ed the gipsy maid,
And she put on a russet cloak and
tearfully obeyed,
And in the chilly dusk between the
sumac's last red ember,
And gaunt gray ghosts of goldenrod
she vanished with November.

--Minna Irving.