V.—Early Autumn.
If as I sit here now in the warm sun,1
Death came to me, and kiss’d my mouth and brow,2
And eyelids, which the warm light hovers through,3
I should not count it strange. Being half won4
By hours that with a tender sadness run ;5
Who would not softly lean to lips which woo6
In the earth’s grave speech ? Nor could it aught undo7
Of Nature’s calm observances begun,8
Still to be here the idle Autumn day.9
Its leaves would circle down, and lie unstirr’d10
Where’er they fell ; the tired wind hither call11
Her gentle fellows ; shining beetles play12
Up their green courts ; and only yon shy bird13
A little bolder grow ere evenfall.14