The leaves that green to summer branches clung,<br>Lit by the torch of autumn, flare and burn<br>In radiance more than summer's; then - they fall,<br>And leave the branches lone and tenantless.<br><br>The torch of Time with autumn splendor lights<br>Your summer memories, who here have told<br>Of battle-front and camp-fire comradery.<br>Viewed through the mist of years, you see your past<br>Aglow like autumn woods through autumn haze -<br>The glamour and the glory more than tune's.<br>Too soon - O wearers of the sacred blue -<br>The frost that falls shall bare those golden boughs;<br>But as one lays away the autumn leaves<br>Between the pages of his book, so, here,<br>Forever safe from storms that dull and fade;<br>Forever safe from snow's oblivion;<br>Forever to your children's children's eyes<br>As bright and glory-hued as to your own,<br>These martial memories of your youth are kept.<br><br>Marian Warner Wildman.