With nap of richest hues the fabric decks,
And spreads it out for feet of every class.
A haze at times may veil the smiling sky,
The sun his golden locks exchange for gray;
But soon a western blast comes sweeping by—
The mists depart, and glory crowns the day.
The lowing cattle roam from field to field;
No more content in narrow bounds to stay;
The ozone in the autumn air has healed
Their every ill, and lo, the dull beasts play.