Of Autumn in his loveliness hath passed,
Touching their foliage with his brilliant hues,
And flinging o’er the lowliest leaf and shrub
His golden livery. On the distant heights
Soft clouds, earth-based, repose, and stretch afar
Their burnished summits in the clear blue heaven,
Flooded with splendor, that the dazzled eye
Turns drooping from the sight.—Nature is here
Like a throned sovereign, and thy voice doth tell
In music never silent, of her power.