IF while I sit flatter'd by this warm sun <br />Death came to me, and kiss'd my mouth and brow, <br />And eyelids which the warm light hovers through, <br />I should not count it strange. Being half won <br />By hours that with a tender sadness run, <br />Who would not softly lean to lips which woo <br />In the Earth's grave speech? Nor could it aught undo <br />Of Nature's calm observances begun <br />Still to be here the idle autumn day. <br />Pale leaves would circle down, and lie unstirr'd <br />Where'er they fell; the tir'd wind hither call <br />Her gentle fellows; shining beetles stray <br />Up their green courts; and only yon shy bird <br />A little bolder grow ere evenfall.<br /><br />Edward Dowden<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-the-garden-vii-early-autumn/
