Wednesday, 10 October 2012
The summer-flower has run to seed
And yellow is the woodland bough ;
And every leaf of bush and weed
Is tipt with Autumn's pencil now.
The woodbine- trees red berries bear,
That clustering hang upon the bower ;
While, fondly lingering here and there,
Peeps out a timid dwindling flower.
Beneath a yellow fading tree,
As red sun light thee, Autumn- morn,
In wildest rapture let me see
The sweets that most thy charms adorn.
O while my eye the landscape views,
What countless beauties are display'd,
What varied tints of nameless hues, -
Shades endless melting into shade.
John Clare (from 'Autumn')