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<h1><i>Autumn</i></h1>
<p id="id00664">The thistle-down's flying, though the winds are all still,<br/>
On the green grass now lying, now mounting the hill,<br/>
The spring from the fountain now boils like a pot;<br/>
Through stones past the counting it bubbles red hot.<br/></p>
<p id="id00665">The ground parched and cracked is like overbaked bread,<br/>
The greensward all wracked is, bents dried up and dead.<br/>
The fallow fields glitter like water indeed,<br/>
And gossamers twitter, flung from weed unto weed.<br/></p>
<p id="id00666">Hill tops like hot iron glitter bright in the sun,<br/>
And the rivers we're eying burn to gold as they run;<br/>
Burning hot is the ground, liquid gold is the air;<br/>
Whoever looks round sees Eternity there.<br/></p>
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