I roam the woods that crown
The upland, where the mingled splendors glow—
Where the gay company of trees look down
On the green fields below.
My steps are not alone
In these bright walks; the sweet southwest, at play,
Flies, rustling, where the painted leaves are strewn
Along the winding way.
And far in heaven, the while,
The sun that sends that gale to wander here,