The mellow year is hasting to its close; The little birds have almost sung their last, Their small notes twitter in the dreary blast -- That shrill-piped harbinger of early snows: The patient beauty of the scentless rose, Oft with the morn's hoar crystal quaintly glassed, Hangs, a pale mourner for the summer past, And makes a little summer where it grows: In the chill sunbeam of the faint brief day The dusky waters shudder as they shine, The russet leaves obstruct the straggling way Of oozy brooks, which no deep banks define, And the gaunt woods, in ragged, scant array, Wrap their old limbs with somber ivy twine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THIRD BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 25 by THOMAS CAMPION WITH WHOM IS NO VARIABLENESS, NEITHER SHADOW OF TURNING' by ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH THE ENTHUSIAST by HERMAN MELVILLE SONNET: 24 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE A DESCRIPTION OF A CITY SHOWER by JONATHAN SWIFT LINES ON EXODUS 3:14 by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE MAPLE TREE OVER THE WAY by LEVI BISHOP AN EPITAPH ON MRS. EL: Y by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 29 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING |