To veil the timid blushes of the virgin moon.
The trees with crimson robes are garmented:
Clad with frail brilliants by the Autumn frost,
For the young leaves, that Spring with beauty fed,
Their greenness and luxuriance have lost,
Gaining new beauty at too dear a cost:
Unnatural beauty, that precedes decay.
Too soon, upon the harsh winds wildly toss’d,
Leaving the naked trees ghost-like and gray,
These leaf-flocks, like vain hopes, will vanish all away.