Green slope of autumn fields, br     And soft November sun, br And golden leaves—they linger yet, br While tasselled pines new fragrance get, br     Though summer-time is done. br br The hedge-rows wear a veil br     Of glistening spider threads, br And in the trees along the brook br The clematis, like whiffs of smoke, br     Its faded garland spreads. br br See, here upon my hand, br     This gauzy-winged wild bee! br Now that the winds are laid, br He suns him unafraid br     Of winter-time or me. br br I love the steepled town, br     The river winding down, br The slow salt tide that creeps br Beside a shore that sleeps, br     Dark with its pine woods' crown. br br Here, high above them all br     Upon my broad-backed hill, br Far from shrill voices I, br And near the sun and sky, br     Can look and take my fill. br br I breathe the sweet air in, br     While lower drops the sun, br And brighter all too soon br Grows the pale hunter's moon, br     The whole year's fairest one.