When bright-hued leaves from tree and
thicket fall,
And on the ground their autumn carpet
strew;
And overhead the wild geese honking call,
In wedge-shaped column, high amid the
blue;
When from the sagebrush, and from mountain
high,
The quail’s soft note reechoes far
and wide;
When hunter moon hangs crescent in the
sky,
And wild deer range on rugged mountain
side;
When old primeval instincts, nature born,
Stir in the hunter’s blood with
lust to kill,
And drive him forth with dog and gun,
at morn,
To sheltered blind, or runway ’neath
the hill
All these proclaim the glorious autumn
days,
When Nature spends her wealth with lavish
hand,
And o’er the landscape spreads a
purple haze,
And waves her magic scepter o’er
the land.