Chapter XL

Oh, bright the day, and calm and cool
With clouds, like cotton-fields that swoon
Beneath the silver summer moon;
And, quiet as a forest pool,--
Where Autumn sits and combs her locks,
And strews with rainbow leaves and roon,--
The shadows rest upon the rocks.

The sun pours airy amber on
The withered wood-ways, where the late
Green-crickets’ shell-like wings vibrate:
And, fainter than lost lines of dawn,
The fields shine labyrinthed with rays,
With gossamer-webs, that imitate
Cloud-figments, or a splintered haze.

Beyond the yarrow’s meekness now,
Wood-sorrel’s lowliness, and shy
Hepatica’s humility,
The Year is grown: makes brave her brow
With crowning crimson of the lands,
And robes her limbs in cardinal dye,
And by the lonely waters stands.