Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame,
Nor mark, within its roseate canopy, 35
Her blush of maiden shame.
Oh, Autumn! why so soon
Depart the hues that make thy forests glad;
Thy gentle wind and thy fair sunny noon,
And leave thee wild and sad? 40
Ah! ’twere a lot too blest,
For ever in thy coloured shades to stray;
Amid the kisses of the soft south-west