DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
121 
SEPTEMBER. 
WORDSWORTH. 
Departing summer hath assumed 
An aspect tenderly illumed, 
The gentlest look of spring; 
That calls from yonder leafy shade 
Unfaded, yet prepared to fade, 
A timely carolling. 
No faint and hesitating trill, 
Such tribute as to winter chill 
The lonely red-breast pays! 
Clear, loud, and lively is the din, 
From social warblers gathering in 
Their harvest of sweet lays. 
Nor doth the example fail to cheer 
Me, conscious that my leaf is sere, 
And yellow on the bough: — 
Fall, rosy garlands, from my head! 
Ye myrtle-wreaths, your fragrance shed 
Around a younger brow! 
J 
