On my cornice linger the ripe, black grapes ungathered;
Children fill the groves with the echoes of their glee,
Gathering tawny chestnuts, and shouting when beside them
Drop the heavy fruit of the tall black walnut tree.
Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson,
Yet our full-leaved willows are in their freshest green,
Such a kindly autumn, so mercifully dealing
With the growths of summer, I never yet have seen.
Like this kindly season may life’s decline come o’er me;
Past is manhood’s summer, the frosty months are here;