Shifts the moonlight-coloured sunshine on the sea.

Toward the sunset's goal the sunless waters crowd,

Fast as autumn days toward winter: yet it seems

Here that autumn wanes not, here that woods and streams

Lose not heart and change not likeness, chilled and bowed,

Warped and wrinkled: here the days are fair as dreams.

IV

O russet-robed November,

What ails thee so to smile?

Chill August, pale September,

Endured a woful while,

And fell as falls an ember

From forth a flameless pile:

But golden-girt November

Bids all she looks on smile.

[Pg 162]

The lustrous foliage, waning

As wanes the morning moon,

Here falling, here refraining,

Outbraves the pride of June

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