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.