| BESIDES the autumn poets sing, | |
| A few prosaic days | |
| A little this side of the snow | |
| And that side of the haze. | |
| | |
| A few incisive mornings, | 5 |
| A few ascetic eves,— | |
| Gone Mr. Bryant’s golden-rod, | |
| And Mr. Thomson’s sheaves. | |
| | |
| Still is the bustle in the brook, | |
| Sealed are the spicy valves; | 10 |
| Mesmeric fingers softly touch | |
| The eyes of many elves. | |
| | |
| Perhaps a squirrel may remain, | |
| My sentiments to share. | |
| Grant me, O Lord, a sunny mind, | 15 |
| Thy windy will to bear! Good Old Emily. |
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