'Tis eve. The sun his ardent axle cools In ocean. Dripping geese shake off the pools. An elm men's shadows measure; red and dun, The shattered leaves are rustling as they run; While an aged bachelor and ancient maid, Sit amorous under an old oak decayed. He (for blue vapours damp the scanty grass) Strews fodder underneath the hoary lass; Then thus,--O matchless piece of season'd clay, 'Tis Autumn, all things shrivel and decay. Yet as in withered Autumn, charms we see, Say, faded maiden, may we not in thee? What tho' thy cheek have furrows? ne'er deplore; For wrinkles are the dimples of threescore: Tho' from those azure lips the crimson flies, It fondly circles round those roseate eyes; And while thy nostrils snuff the fingered grain, The tinct thy locks have lost, thy lips obtain. Come then, age urges, hours have winged feet, Ah! press the wedding ere the winding sheet. To clasp that waist compact in stiffened fold, Of woof purpureal, flowered with radiant gold; Then, after stately kisses, to repair That architectural edifice of hair, These, these are blessings.--O my grey delight, O venerable nymph, O painted blight, Give me to taste of these. By Heaven above, I tremble less with palsy than with love; And tho' my husky murmurs creak uncouth, My words flow unobstructed by a tooth. Come then, age urges, hours have winged feet, Ah! press the wedding ere the winding sheet. Come, thou wilt ne'er provoke crimconic law, Nor lie, maternal, on the pale-eyed straw. Come, and in formal frolic intertwine, The braided silver of thy hair with mine. Then sing some bibulous and reeling glee, And drink crusht juices of the grape with me. Sing, for the wine no water shall dilute; 'Tis drinking water makes the fishes mute. Come then, age urges, hours have winged feet; Ah! press the wedding, ere the winding sheet. So spoke the slim and elderly remains Of once a youth. A staff his frame sustains; And aids his aching limbs, from knee to heel, Thin as the spectre of a famished eel. Sharpening the blunted glances of her eyes, The virgin a decrepid simper tries, Then stretches rigid smiles, which shew him plain, Her passion, and the teeth that still remain. Innocent pair! But now the rain begins, So both knot kerchiefs underneath their chins. And homeward haste. Such loves the Poet wrote, In the patch'd poverty of half a coat; Then diadem'd with quills his brow sublime, Magnanimously mad in mighty rhime.