AUTUMN. WITH What a glory comes and goes the year! Comes down upon the autumn sun, and with There is a beautiful spirit breathing now Its mellow richness on the clustered trees, And, from a beaker full of richest dyes, Pouring new glory on the autumn woods, And dipping in warm light the pillared clouds. Morn on the mountain, like a summer bird, Lifts up her purple wing, and in the vales The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer, Kisses the blushing leaf, and stirs up life By the wayside a-weary. Through the trees The golden robin moves. The purple finch, That on wild cherry and red cedar feeds, A winter bird, comes with its plaintive whistle, Sounds from the threshing-floor the busy flail. O what a glory doth this world put on Shall have a voice, and give him eloquent teachings. To his long resting-place without a tear. |