Stands in its grandeur free.
But sweeter than them all,
And softer than the voice of love returned,
Are the untutored lays of lips sunburned,
From village maids that fall!
To schoolboys' feelings dear
Is rich-toned Autumn. Oh! with what a zest
They plunge in stream retired,—despoil a nest,—
Or ramble far and near.
How oft, when changeful Time