And the yellow sunflower by the brook, in autumn beauty stood.

Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson, Yet our full-leaved willows are in the freshest green. Such a kindly autumn, so mercifully dealing With the growths of summer, I never yet have seen.

The melancholy days have come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sear.

Thou blossom bright with autumn dew,And colored with the heaven's own blue. . . .

The groves were God's first temples.

To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language.