Here you will find the Poem Indian Summer of poet 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.
