AUTUMN.

Me it delights, in mellow Autumn tide,

To mark the pleasaunce that mine eye surrounds:

The forest-trees like coloured posies pied:

The upland's mealy grey, and russet grounds;

Seeking for joy, where joyaunce most abounds;

Not found, I ween, in courts and halls of pride,

Where folly feeds, or flattery's sighs and sounds,

And with sick heart, but seemeth to be merry:

True pleasaunce is with humble food supplied;

Like shepherd swain, who plucks the brambleberry.

With savoury appetite, from hedge-row briars,

Then drops content on molehills' sunny side;

Proving, thereby, low joys and small desires

Are easiest fed, and soonest satisfied.

The Amulet.