221 
All these were haj^py meetings unto me — 
The leaves, weeds, berries with their lively tints. 
Pale flowers, and pleasant musings. But ere long 
A dearer and more joyous form than all 
Came hojjping friskily about. ’Twas he. 
The wintry warbler — poor Robin Red-breast, 
As blithe and brisk, and merry as his wont. 
Singing and chin’uping, as by my side 
In kind companionship he skipped along. 
Or flew from tree to tree. And as he sung, 
Methought his gay notes shaped themselves to sense — 
Language like ours; and thus my fancy framed. 
From his sweet music, immelodious words. 
Farewell to Autumn! She’s passing away. 
Silently, swiftly going— 
She is shaking the last brown leaves from the spray. 
And they fall on the earth, where the Sun’s slant ray 
Finds only damp moss growing. 
Autumn is parting; mute and fast 
Her few faint flowers are dying; 
The noon of the year is gone and past. 
And every moaning and muttering blast 
The Summer’s dirge is crying. 
