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