Far up the brook, beyond the lin...

Far up the brook, beyond the lin . . . . . . . . . . I hear the impatient bluejay's din, While in the browning beech, nut-laden, The chipmunk gathers his harvest in.

(Of all earth's trees exceeding fair, Thee have I loved beyond compare, Most human beech! and felt thy spirit Tremble to mine in the dusky air.)

The year is rounding up its task, And kingly gives to all that ask; Ay, soon 'twill move in pomp so royal The world shall seem, but a heavenly mask!