Mellow hazes, lowly trailing br Over wood and meadow, veiling br Somber skies, with wildfowl sailing br Sailor-like to foreign lands; br And the north-wind overleaping br Summer's brink, and floodlike sweeping br Wrecks of roses where the weeping br Willows wring their helpless hands. br br Flared, like Titan torches flinging br Flakes of flame and embers, springing br From the vale the trees stand swinging br In the moaning atmosphere; br While in dead'ning-lands the lowing br Of the cattle, sadder growing, br Fills the sense to overflowing br With the sorrow of the year. br br Sorrowfully, yet the sweeter br Sings the brook in rippled meter br Under boughs that lithely teeter br Lorn birds, answering from the shores br Through the viny, shady-shiny br Interspaces, shot with tiny br Flying motes that fleck the winy br Wave-engraven sycamores. br br Fields of ragged stubble, wrangled br With rank weeds, and shocks of tangled br Corn, with crests like rent plumes dangled br Over Harvest's battle-piain; br And the sudden whir and whistle br Of the quail that, like a missile, br Whizzes over thorn and thistle, br And, a missile, drops again. br br Muffled voices, hid in thickets br Where the redbird stops to stick its br Ruddy beak betwixt the pickets br Of the truant's rustic trap; br And the sound of laughter ringing br Where, within the wild-vine swinging, br Climb Bacchante's schoolmates, flinging br Purple clusters in her lap. br br Rich as wine, the sunset flashes br Round the tilted world, and dashes br Up the sloping west and splashes br Red foam over sky and sea-- br Till my dream of Autumn, paling br In the splendor all-prevailing, br Like a sallow leaf goes sailing br Down the silence solemnly.