LXXXVII 
Written in October 


The blasts of Autumn as they scatter round 
     The faded foliage of another year, 
And muttering many a sad and solemn sound, 
     Drive the pale fragments o'er the stubble sere, 
Are well attuned to my dejected mood; 						5
     (Ah! better far than airs that breathe of Spring!) 
     While the high rooks, that hoarsely clamouring 
Seek in black phalanx the half-leafless wood, 
     I rather hear, than that enraptured lay 
	Harmonious, and of Love and Pleasure born, 				10
Which from the golden furze, or flowering thorn 
     Awakes the Shepherd in the ides of May; 
Nature delights me most when most she mourns, 
For never more to me the Spring of Hope returns!