In Late Autumn.

Primrose and cowslip have I gathered here,1
Anemone and hiding violet,2
When April sang the Spring song of the year :3
Now all is changed ;  the Autumn day is wet4
With clouds blown from the West, and vapours fold5
Over the dropping woods and vacant wold ;6
The latest flower of the field is dead ;7
The birds that sang to me are mute or fled,8
Save one that like a larger berry clings9
On the green holly bush, and sings and sings10
A farewell to the sun that, low and pale,11
Lightens a wild sky like a distant fire ;12
The wind beats on the tree-tops like a flail,13
And strews the red leaves in the pools and mire.14