 | Lyra Pastoralis |  |
October
I wandered by a lonely woodland poolIn the still light of an October day:
The trees stood robed in colours of decay,
Which tinged that glassy mirror, calm and cool.
Mild Autumn called me to her tranquil school,
That I might learn a seasonable lay—
The soothing message of her softer ray,
The tender meaning of her gentle rule.
“Life's Autumn duly prize,” she seemed to say,
“Nor mourn the fading years which breathe of rest;
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The red may yet be mirrored in thy breast;
A milder sunshine round thy footsteps play,
And with a deeper calm thy days be blest!”
| Lyra Pastoralis | |