|
Besides the Autumn poets sing A few prosaic days A little this side of the snow And that side of the Haze -- A few incisive Mornings -- A few Ascetic Eves -- Gone -- Mr. Bryants Golden Rod -- And Mr. Thomsons sheaves. Still, is the bustle in the Brook -- Sealed are the spicy valves -- Mesmeric fingers softly touch The Eyes of many Elves -- Perhaps a squirrel may remain -- My sentiments to share -- Grant me, Oh Lord, a sunny mind -- Thy windy will to bear! | 
