But in arms of brave old Autumn’s wearing,
In the center of his blazoned shield.
Not alone in meadows and green alleys
On the mountaintop and by the brink
Of sequestered pool in woodland valleys,
Where the slaves of nature stoop to drink;
Not alone in her vast dome of glory,
Not on graves of birds or beasts alone,
But in old cathedrals, high and hoary,
On the tombs of heroes carved in stone;