Sonnet. To Autumn. Poem by Susan Evance

MILD pensive Autumn! how I love to stray
At thy sweet season through the woody vale;
And when the western orb's declining ray
Tinges thy varied foliage, hear the gale
Of evening sigh among the lofty trees,
And watch thy mists obscure the mountain's height;
While sportive swallows, tossing in the breeze,
Collect, preparing for their distant flight.
As, lovely Autumn! on thy charms I gaze,
Thy soften'd charms which I so dearly prize,
A thrilling tender melancholy sways
My raptur'd heart, and tears suffuse my eyes.
These feelings, which thy pensive hours employ,
Who would resign for all the world calls joy!