THE autumn day steals, pallid as a ghost, br Along these fields and man-forsaken ways; br And o'er the hedgerows bramble-knotted maze br The whitening locks of Old Man's Beard are tost. br Here, shrunk by centuries of fire and frost, br A crab tree stands where--lingering gossip says-- br In ocean-moated England's golden days, br Great treasure, in a frolic, once was lost. br br Here--fresh from fumes of some Falstaffian bout, br When famous champions, fired by many a bet, br Had drained huge bumpers while the stars would set-- br Beneath its reeling branches by the way, br Till twice twelve hours of April bloom were out-- br Locked in oblivion--Shakespeare lost a day.