THE dark green Summer, with its massive hues, <br />Fades into Autumn's tincture manifold. <br />A gorgeous garniture of fire and gold <br />The high slope of the ferny hill indues. <br />The mists of morn in slumbering layers diffuse <br />O'er glimmering rock, smooth lake, and spiked array <br />Of hedge-row thorns, a unity of grey. <br />All things appear their tangible form to lose <br />In ghostly vastness. But anon the gloom <br />Melts, as the Sun puts off his muddy veil; <br />And now the birds their twittering songs resume, <br />All Summer silent in the leafy dale. <br />In Spring they piped of love on every tree, <br />But now they sing the song of memory.<br /><br />Hartley Coleridge<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/september-27/
