AUTUMN.
BY JOHN CLARE.
Me it delights, in mellow Autumn tide,
To mark the pleasaunce that mine eye surrounds:
The forest-trees like coloured posies pied:
The upland's mealy grey, and russet grounds;
Seeking for joy, where joyaunce most abounds;
Not found, I ween, in courts and halls of pride,
Where folly feeds, or flattery's sighs and sounds,
And with sick heart, but seemeth to be merry: