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

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.

Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them.

The sounds I had heard seemed worthy to mingle with this bright and perfumed atmosphere, and to thrill the beautiful scenery around me.