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a web of many textures

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The curious wind comes searching through the street,
With bodings bitter,
Whirling around the quick pedestrian's feet
Whole heaps of litter.
The traders all withdraw their fragile stock
Of lace and muslins,
Unable to withstand the testy shock
Of Autumn's tusslings.
Delaines and thibets float upon the air
In tempting manner,
And Balmorals are dancing everywhere,
Like many a banner.
And winter furs come on us unperceived,
Of fitch or sable,
And madam and the girls, their cloaks achieved,
Are comfortable.
And little Tommy takes his winter boots
From where he 's thrown them;
Alas! he tries, and finds that neither suits,
For he 's outgrown them.


Page 51
The vine looks sickly on the trellis high, —
The leaves all curling,
And every breeze that hastens rudely by
Sets them to whirling.
The old spout, hanging by a single nail,
Laments and mutters,
As if in meek remonstrance with the gale
That threatening utters.
The summer birds have left their breezy haunt
Among our branches,
And moved upon their regular annual jaunt
To warmer ranches.
Huge heaps of coal defile the sidewalk way,
And we — confound 'em! —
Must o'er their yielding heights a path essay,
Or travel round 'em.
And many bills thrust in their leech-like length,
With items fearful,
Testing the purse whose corresponding strength
Is never near full.
The biting airs the shrinking flesh appall
By sharp incisions,
And everything proclaims the approach of Fall,
Except provisions.