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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
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
Mesmeric fingers softly touch
The Eyes of many Elves

Perhaps a squirrel may remain
My sentiments to share
Grant me, Oh Lord, a sunny mind
Thy windy will to bear!