Autumn Bones

Changelings by Mary Thacher Higginson

        The ghosts of flowers went sailing
        Through the dreamy autumn air, --
The gossamer wings of the milkweed brown,
And the sheeny silk of the thistle-down;
        But there was no bewailing,
        And never a hint of despair.

        From the mountain-ash was swinging
        A gray, deserted nest;
Scarlet berries where eggs had been;
Softly the flower-wraiths floated in:
        And the brook and the breeze were singing
        When the sun sank down in the west.