FALL WORK 



IN THE GARDEN 



What visionary tints the year puts on, 

 When falling leaves falter through motionless air, 



Or numbly cling and shiver to be gone! 

 How shimmer the low flats and pastures bare, 

 As with her nectar Hebe Autumn fills 

 The bowl between me and those distant hills, 

 And smiles and shakes abroad her misty, tremu- 

 lous hair! 



LOWELL: An Indian Summer Reverie. 



