Autumn

"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

Within the solemn woods of ash deep-crimsoned,

And silver beech, and maple yellow-leaved,

 

Where Autumn, like a faint old man, sits down

By the wayside a-weary."