William Wilfred Campbell

(1858 - 1918 / Ontario)

Indian Summer - Poem by William Wilfred Campbell

Along the line of smoky hills
The crimson forest stands,
And all the day the blue-jay calls
Throughout the autumn lands.

Now by the brook the maple leans
With all his glory spread,
And all the sumachs on the hills
Have turned their green to red.

Now by great marshes wrapt in mist,
Or past some river's mouth,
Throughout the long, still autumn day
Wild birds are flying south.


Comments about Indian Summer by William Wilfred Campbell

  • Mary Ann Higgins (1/27/2020 1:42:00 PM)

    The auto voice on the video was AWFUL how about a human for some real emotion and melancholy Plus the last verse was omitted. (Report)Reply

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  • ann krochter (9/13/2018 3:14:00 PM)

    my mother drummed that poem into us until we knew it by heart. she has long since passed, but every time i hear it, it makes me cry for her. (Report)Reply

    2 person liked.
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Poem Submitted: Thursday, April 15, 2010

Poem Edited: Saturday, May 7, 2011


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