October

Sweet are the woodland notesThat gush melodious at morn from palpitating throats,In anthems fresh as dew! Ay, they are sweet!But from that dim retreatWhere Evening muses through the pensive hours,There sometimes floats alongA more appealing song.So, love, thy voice breathes a diviner music in the chillOf autumn, when the glen is stillAnd Flora's gold all tarnished on the hill,Than in the time when merry May calls forth her bashful flowers.