Autumn Poem by George Hannibal Temple

The Autumn comes, and chilly frost of morn,
Has, with his crystal mantle, all things spread,
And tinged with iris hues the leaves that on
The moss-terraced mountain heights the oreads tread.


The ambient haze obscures the heaven's blue -
High, overhanging cliffs, in wild festoon,
The graceful ivy clings, attired anew
In russet vestment gay - 'tis Autumn's boon!


The mighty oak nods to the whistling breeze,
And shower'd acorns scatter o'er the hill;
Save that, and chestnuts dropping from the trees,
And music of the brook, the air is still.


The birds of passage southward turn their wing,
Where warmth of clime and verdure e'er remain;
Farewell, ye happy birds! farewell till spring,
In vernal freshness clad, shall come again!