I hail and bless thy presence, month most dear
In the round cycle of the rolling year;
Thy grave, sweet aspect, silent and serene,
Is dearer now than it hath ever been.
When brooding sorrows shroud my soul in gloom,
And round me fall the shadows of the tomb,
Thy mellow radiance, tender and benign,
Softly irradiates this sad heart of mine.
For ah! my way of life has fallen now
Into the sere and yellow leaf; but thou,
Most beauteous in decay, to me dost bring
A deeper bliss than all the flush of Spring.
How sweet the sympathetic chord that thrills
My musing soul, when o'er the purple hills
I see the mantling mists creep slowly down,
While from the forest monarch's leafy crown
The gems are falling, and the shining threads
Of gossamer thick strung with dewy beads.
From the blue depths of yon calm sleeping sky,
Spirit of Peace, thou com'st; I feel thee nigh:
O, on my soul's dark waters gently move,
As at creation's birth the brooding dove!
And I, oh gentle peace, will muse and sing
In the soft shadow of thy downy wing.
Spring with her clouds, her sunbursts, and her showers,
Bright glowing Summer, draped and crowned with flowers,
Ripe Autumn, rich in fruits and golden sheaves,
Have pass'd away like swallows from the eaves:
But thou, October, with thy sober hues,
Thy russet foliage, and thy drenching dews,
Thy silent songsters, blanch'd and faded flowers,
Canst with soft magic charm life's weary hours.