ACROSS the land a faint blue veil of mist

    Seems hung； the woods wear yet arrayment sober

    Till frost shall make them flame； silent and whist

    The drooping cherry orchards of October

    Like mournful pennons hang their shrivelling leaves

    Russet and orange： all things now decay；

    Long since ye garnered in your autumn sheaves

    And sad the robins pipe at set of day.

    Now do ye dream of Spring when greening shaws

    Confer with the shrewd breezes and of slopes

    Flower-kirtled and of April virgin guest；

    Days that ye love despite their windy flaws

    Since they are woven with all joys and hopes

    Whereof ye nevermore shall be possessed.