16 
Spenser thus alludes to their being the sport of every 
air: — 
“ Like to an almond-tree ymounted hye 
On top of green Selinis all alone, 
With blossoms brave bedecked daintilie, 
Whose tender locks do tremble everie one 
At everie little breath that under heaven is blown.” 
When garner’d is pale Autumn’s sheaf, 
And days are gloomy, chill, and brief, 
Oh not with wonder, scarce with grief, 
We pause to view 
The fading flower and seared leaf 
Our pathway strew. 
But thus to see thee bow thy head, 
And on the ground thy pale leaves shed, 
Ere thy first hour of bloom is sped, 
This wakes a sigh; 
For visions of the early dead 
Come floating by. 
