 | Small Tableaux |  |
59
THE FIRST WEEK IN OCTOBER.
Once on an autumn day as I reposedBeneath a noon-beam, pallid yet not dull,
The branch above my head dipt itself full
Of that white sunshine momently, and closed;
While, ever and anon, the ashen keys
Dropt down beside the tarnished hollyhocks,
The scarlet crane's-bill, and the faded stocks,—
Flung from the shuffling leafage by the breeze.
How wistfully I marked the year's decay,
Forecasting all the dreary wind and rain;
'Twas the last week the swallow would remain—
How jealously I watched his circling play!
A few brief hours, and he would dart away,
No more to turn upon himself again.
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