In these bright walks; the sweet south-west at play,
Flies, rustling, where the painted leaves are strown 15
Along the winding way.
And far in heaven, the while,
The sun, that sends that gale to wander here,
Pours out on the fair earth his quiet smile,—
The sweetest of the year. 20
Where now the solemn shade,
Verdure and gloom where many branches meet—
So grateful, when the noon of summer made