Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson, Yet our full-leaved willows are in the freshest green. Such a kindly autumn, so mercifully dealing With the growths of summer, I never yet have seen.

The melancholy days have come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sear.

And the yellow sunflower by the brook, in autumn beauty stood.

Thou blossom bright with autumn dew,And colored with the heaven's own blue. . . .

Autumn...the year's last, loveliest smile."

[Indian Summer]

O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stained With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit Beneath my shady roof; there thou mayest rest And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe, And all the daughters of the year shall dance! Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.