« PreviousContinue »
Methinks there's something sad in thy decay,
Poet! doth no regrets o'ercast thy dream,
To see the good old Autumn thus depart?
E'en as I follow to his lowly bed,
The ashes of some kind, and well-beloved friend, So, with a saddened eye and mournful tread,
I see thee, Autumn! to oblivion tend.
Yet beautiful are thy last fleeting days,
When glows the hectic on thy dying cheek;
When leaves are red, clouds bright, and hangs the haze In many a colored fold, and gaudy streak.
I hear the voice of Autumn! the deep dirge