HOW sweet thus clad, in Autumn's mellow Tone, With serious eye, the russet Scene to view! No Verdure decks the Forest, save alone The sad green Holly, and the olive Yew. The Skies, no longer of a garish Blue, Subdued to Dove-like Tints, and soft as Wool, Reflected show their slaty Shades anew In the drab Waters of the clayey Pool. Meanwhile yon Cottage Maiden wends to School, In Garb of Chocolate so neatly drest, And Bonnet puce, fit object for the Tool, And chastened Pigments, of our Brother West; Yea, all is silent, sober, calm, and cool, Save gaudy Robin with his crimson Breast. |