​

I mark the summer's swift decline;
The springing sward its grave-clothes weaves.[1]


Oh, could I catch the sounds remote!
Could I but tell to human ear
The strains which on the breezes float
And sing the requiem of the dying year!

  1. ↑ Vide the Fall of the Leaf poem. [This note is written in pencil between this line and the following stanza. The poem referred to is reprinted (without these lines) in Excursions, and Poems, p. 407.]
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