'Twas in that mellow season of the year When the hot sun singes the yellow leaves Till they be gold,--and with a broader sphere The Moon looks down on Ceres and her sheaves; When more abundantly the spider weaves, And the cold wind breathes from a chillier clime;-- That forth I fared, on one of those still eves, Touch'd with the dewy sadness of the time, To think how the bright months had spent their prime, II. So that, wherever I address'd my way, I seem'd to track the melancholy feet Of him that is the Father of Decay, And spoils at once the sour weed and the sweet;-- Wherefore regretfully I made retreat To some unwasted regions of my brain, Charm'd with the light of summer and the heat, And bade that bounteous season bloom again, And sprout fresh flowers in mine own domain. III. It was a shady and sequester'd scene, Like those famed gardens of Boccaccio, Planted with his own laurels evergreen, And roses that for endless summer blow; And there were fountain springs to overflow Their marble basins,--and cool green arcades Of tall o'erarching sycamores, to throw Athwart the dappled path their dancing shades,-- With timid coneys cropping the green blades. IV. And there were crystal pools, peopled with fish, Argent and gold; and some of Tyrian skin, Some crimson-barr'd;--and ever at a wish They rose obsequious till the wave grew thin As glass upon their backs, and then dived in, Quenching their ardent scales in watery gloom; Whilst others with fresh hues row'd forth to win My changeable regard,--for so we doom Things born of thought to vanish or to bloom. V. And there were many birds of many dyes, From tree to tree still faring to and fro, And stately peacocks with their splendid eyes, And gorgeous pheasants with their golden glow, Like Iris just bedabbled in her bow, Beside some vocalists, without a name, That oft on fairy errands come and go, With accents magical;--and all were tame, And peckled at my hand where'er I came. VI. And for my sylvan company, in lieu Of Pampinea with her lively peers, Sate Queen Titania with her pretty crew, All in their liveries quaint, with elfin gears, For she was gracious to my childish years, And made me free of her enchanted round; Wherefore this dreamy scene she still endears, And plants her court upon a verdant mound, Fenced with umbrageous woods and groves profound. VII. "Ah me," she cries, "was ever moonlight seen So clear and tender for our midnight trips? Go some one forth, and with a trump convene My lieges all!"--Away the goblin skips A pace or two apart, and deftly strips The ruddy skin from a sweet rose's cheek, Then blows the shuddering leaf between his lips, Making it utter forth a shrill small shriek, Like a fray'd bird in the gray owlet's beak. VIII.