Beautifully dies the year. br Silence sleeps upon the mere: br Yellow leaves float on it, stilly br As, in June, the opened lily. br Brushing o'er the frosty grass br I watch a moment, ere I pass, br From beeches that will soon be bare br Down the still November air br The lovely ways of gliding leaves. br Perhaps they budded on Spring eves br When we two walked and talked together! br Autumn thoughts for Autumn weather! br I wish some days that I remember br Could glide from me, this fair November.