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| I LOVE to wander through the woodlands hoary | |
| In the soft light of an autumnal day, | |
| When Summer gathers up her robes of glory, | |
| And like a dream of beauty glides away. | |
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| How through each loved, familiar path she lingers, | 5 |
| Serenely smiling through the golden mist, | |
| Tinting the wild grape with her dewy fingers | |
| Till the cool emerald turns to amethyst; | |
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| Kindling the faint stars of the hazel, shining | |
| To light the gloom of Autumn’s mouldering halls, | 10 |
| With hoary plumes the clematis entwining | |
| Where o’er the rock her withered garland falls. | |
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| Warm lights are on the sleepy uplands waning | |
| Beneath soft clouds along the horizon rolled, | |
| Till the slant sunbeams through their fringes raining | 15 |
| Bathe all the hills in melancholy gold. | |
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| The moist winds breathe of crispèd leaves and flowers | |
| In the damp hollows of the woodland sown, | |
| Mingling the freshness of autumnal showers | |
| With spicy airs from cedarn alleys blown. | 20 |
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| Beside the brook and on the umbered meadow, | |
| Where yellow fern-tufts fleck the faded ground, | |
| With folded lids beneath their palmy shadow | |
| The gentian nods, in dewy slumbers bound. | |
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| Upon those soft, fringed lids the bee sits brooding, | 25 |
| Like a fond lover loath to say farewell, | |
| Or with shut wings, through silken folds intruding, | |
| Creeps near her heart his drowsy tale to tell. | |
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| The little birds upon the hillside lonely | |
| Flit noiselessly along from spray to spray, | 30 |
| Silent as a sweet wandering thought that only | |
| Shows its bright wings and softly glides away. | |
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