Or, underneath the shadow vast of patriarchal tree,
Scan through its leaves the cloudless sky in rapt tranquillity.
Motherwell.
4. The eventide of Summer, when the trees
Yield their fresh honors to the passing breeze,
And woodland paths with autumn tints are dyed;
When the mild sun his paling lustre shrouds
In gorgeous draperies of golden clouds.
Mrs. E. C. Embury.
5. When on the breath of Autumn breeze,