Xl

Oh, bright the day, and calm and cool With clouds, like cotton-fields that swoon Beneath the silver summer moon; And, quiet as a forest pool,-- Where Autumn sits and combs her locks, And strews with rainbow leaves and roon,-- The shadows rest upon the rocks.

The sun pours airy amber on The withered wood-ways, where the late Green-crickets’ shell-like wings vibrate: And, fainter than lost lines of dawn, The fields shine labyrinthed with rays, With gossamer-webs, that imitate Cloud-figments, or a splintered haze.

Beyond the yarrow’s meekness now, Wood-sorrel’s lowliness, and shy Hepatica’s humility, The Year is grown: makes brave her brow With crowning crimson of the lands, And robes her limbs in cardinal dye, And by the lonely waters stands.