But see the fading many-colored woods,

shade deepening over shade,

the country round

imbrown;

a crowded umbrage,

dusk and dun,

of every hue from wan declining green

to soot dark.

The pale descending year, yet pleasing still,

a gentler mood inspires;

for now the leaf

incessant rustles from the mournful grove,

oft startling such as,

studious,

walk below,

and slowly circles through the waving air.

–James Thomson