Already the air is scent with wintry breath;
The omnious signs rise evocative with time,
Claiming worth in nature`s beauty tainted
And the chill breezes solemnly in rageful haste.
Beauty and sophistry be in a mocking run;
Each employ another in frivolity best,
Making humour in deluge in their perfect heaven:
Like the passed summer their joy will taint.
Ah!Hell hath no fury like a subdued scorn
Of summer;like a weeping child in a deep cry,
Clings the lost glory of the orchestrator
Panting to an end slowly with every shutting day.
Come Autumn the season of romance,
Make youth employ reason and sense.
