Autumn (Clare)

I love the fitful gust that shakesThe casement all the day,And from the glossy elm tree takesThe faded leaves away,Twirling them by the window paneWith thousand others down the lane.

I love to see the shaking twigDance till the shut of eve,The sparrow on the cottage rig,Whose chirp would make believeThat Spring was just now flirting byIn Summer's lap with flowers to lie.

I love to see the cottage smokeCurl upwards through the trees,The pigeons nestled round the coteOn November days like these;The cock upon the dunghill crowing,The mill sails on the heath a-going.

The feather from the raven's breastFalls on the stubble lea,The acorns near the old crow's nestDrop pattering down the tree;The grunting pigs, that wait for all,Scramble and hurry where they fall.