There is a spell in autumn early, br One all too brief, of an enchantment rare: br The nights are radiant and pearly, br The days, pellucid, crystal-clear. br br Where played the sickle and fell the corn, a mellow, br A warm and breathless stillness reigns supreme; br Spanning the brown and idle furrow, br A dainty thread of cobweb gleams. br br The birds have flown, we hear no more their clamour, br But winter's angry winds not soon will start to blow - br Upon the empty fields there pours the azure glow br Of skies that have not lost the warmth of summer.