AUTUMN.
When yellowing woods let fall their sapless leaves,And, breathing softly from the mild South-west,The Indian Summer mitigates the air,Me it delights, leaving the towers of men,With devious feet, and void of fixed intent,To wander far into the country still;My path, some grassy road untrodden lone,Which leads the steps through woods of dwarfish pines,Where dwells unscared the solitary jay,And sings the cricket, sole inhabitants.In these sweet solitudes the soul becomesTranquil as seas mid happy isles embayed;Here weary hearts a balsam for their woes,In whispering boughs and silent skies can find.And here, amid the calm and liberal air,The heated brain grows cool from contact free;How sweet to live a sylvan eremite,By some sequestered lake in forests hid,Or pebble-paven urn, the cradle coolOf tiny brook, or gently lapsing stream.Legends there are of fallen kings, who heldTheir exiled courts beneath the forest boughs;Better their faded state in such pure haunts,Than when it shone in haughty palaces!
When yellowing woods let fall their sapless leaves,And, breathing softly from the mild South-west,The Indian Summer mitigates the air,Me it delights, leaving the towers of men,With devious feet, and void of fixed intent,To wander far into the country still;My path, some grassy road untrodden lone,Which leads the steps through woods of dwarfish pines,Where dwells unscared the solitary jay,And sings the cricket, sole inhabitants.In these sweet solitudes the soul becomesTranquil as seas mid happy isles embayed;Here weary hearts a balsam for their woes,In whispering boughs and silent skies can find.And here, amid the calm and liberal air,The heated brain grows cool from contact free;How sweet to live a sylvan eremite,By some sequestered lake in forests hid,Or pebble-paven urn, the cradle coolOf tiny brook, or gently lapsing stream.Legends there are of fallen kings, who heldTheir exiled courts beneath the forest boughs;Better their faded state in such pure haunts,Than when it shone in haughty palaces!
When yellowing woods let fall their sapless leaves,And, breathing softly from the mild South-west,The Indian Summer mitigates the air,Me it delights, leaving the towers of men,With devious feet, and void of fixed intent,To wander far into the country still;My path, some grassy road untrodden lone,Which leads the steps through woods of dwarfish pines,Where dwells unscared the solitary jay,And sings the cricket, sole inhabitants.In these sweet solitudes the soul becomesTranquil as seas mid happy isles embayed;Here weary hearts a balsam for their woes,In whispering boughs and silent skies can find.
When yellowing woods let fall their sapless leaves,
And, breathing softly from the mild South-west,
The Indian Summer mitigates the air,
Me it delights, leaving the towers of men,
With devious feet, and void of fixed intent,
To wander far into the country still;
My path, some grassy road untrodden lone,
Which leads the steps through woods of dwarfish pines,
Where dwells unscared the solitary jay,
And sings the cricket, sole inhabitants.
In these sweet solitudes the soul becomes
Tranquil as seas mid happy isles embayed;
Here weary hearts a balsam for their woes,
In whispering boughs and silent skies can find.
And here, amid the calm and liberal air,The heated brain grows cool from contact free;How sweet to live a sylvan eremite,By some sequestered lake in forests hid,Or pebble-paven urn, the cradle coolOf tiny brook, or gently lapsing stream.Legends there are of fallen kings, who heldTheir exiled courts beneath the forest boughs;Better their faded state in such pure haunts,Than when it shone in haughty palaces!
And here, amid the calm and liberal air,
The heated brain grows cool from contact free;
How sweet to live a sylvan eremite,
By some sequestered lake in forests hid,
Or pebble-paven urn, the cradle cool
Of tiny brook, or gently lapsing stream.
Legends there are of fallen kings, who held
Their exiled courts beneath the forest boughs;
Better their faded state in such pure haunts,
Than when it shone in haughty palaces!