Autumn Gold

In the autumn in my hand I hold
Great beautiful leaves of molten gold.
Terribly dull and dead and brown,
They fall gently, softly down.

Upon the ground there appears a frost,
But none is so fine or great a cost,
As the thin leaves of gold and green,
That I have long before seen.

When in winter with the trees so bare,
I miss the leaves floating in the air.
With the soft, beautiful gold in my hand,
Nothing can compare, no riches in the land.

They float down, each like a silent ghost,
To join the great and colorful host.
I love them lying upon the ground dead,
But more I love them floating about my head.