V Written in AUTUMN 1795

Written in AUTUMN
1795 [1] 

Oh Autumn! how I love thy pensive air,
Thy yellow garb, thy visage sad and dun;
When from the misty east the laboring Sun
Bursts thro' thy fogs, that gathering round him, dare
Obscure his beams, which tho' enfeebled, dart 5
On the cold, dewy plains a lustre bright,
But chief, the sounds of thy reft woods delight;
Their deep, low murmurs to my soul impart
A solemn stillness, while they seem to speak
Of spring, of summer now for ever past,10
Of drear, approaching winter, and the blast
Which shall ere long their soothing quiet break,
Here when for faded joys my heaving breast
Throbs with vain pangs, here will I love to rest.


[1] EDITOR'S NOTE: "Written in Autumn 1795" is printed as "Sonnet" in Psyche, with Other Poems (undated). BACK