The morns are meeker than they were

Poem by Emily Dickinson

The morns are meeker than they were - 
The nuts are getting brown -
The berry’s cheek is plumper -
The rose is out of town.
 
The maple wears a gayer scarf -
The field a scarlet gown -
Lest I sh'd be old-fashioned 
I’ll put a trinket on.