VI.—A Morning of Later Autumn.
This is the year’s despair : some wind, last night,1
Utter’d too soon the irrevocable word,2
And the leaves heard it, and the low clouds heard ;3
So a wan morning dawn’d, of sterile light,4
The few flowers hid their faces out of sight,5
The cattle drowsed, and one disconsolate bird6
Chirp’d a weak note ; last came this mist, and blurr’d7
The hills, and fed upon the fields like blight.8
Ah ! why so swift despair ! There yet will be9
Warm noons, the honey’d leavings of the year—10
Hours of rich musing, ripest Autumn’s core,11
And late-heap’d fruit, and falling hedge-berry—12
Blossoms in cottage crofts, and yet, once more,13
A song not less than June’s, fervent and clear.14