The summer’s voice is still

The autumn's come again


& the clouds descend in rain


& the leaves they are falling from the wood


The summer's voice is still


Save the clacking of the mill


& the lowly muttered thunder of the flood


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By September

How delightfuly pleasant when the cool chilling air


By september is thrown oer the globe


When each morning both hedges and bushes do wear


Instead of their green—a grey robe.


To see the sun rise thro the skirts of the wood


In his mantle so lovley and red


It cheers up my spirits and does me much good


As thro the cold stubbles I tred

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The white-thorn tree

Who loves the white-thorn tree,

And the river running free?

There a maiden stood with me

In  Summer weather.

Near a cottage far from town,

While the sun went brightly down

Oer the meadows green and brown,

We loved together.

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On thy gentle stream

Upon thy winding side wild gwash I lie 

Viewing with curious eye the silver bream 

Taking vaunting springs to trap the thoughtless flye 

That heedless dances on thy gentle stream 

The black snail wakens from the swoons of day 

& from the boughs that nestle by thy side 

The light wing'd moths steal out again to play 

Crossing with hasty wing thy rippling tide

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The nearest way

The passing hours jogd on apace 

& in their progress seemd to say 

‘Haste & gain that destind place 

 Or soon thoult loose the flitting day’ 

 I instantly obeyd their call 

 Nor went to where the foot pad lay 

 But clamberd oer an old rough wall 

 & stole across the nearest way 

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Mist simmers thin

The heavy thick mist hangs over the sun

The grass is all wet wi the dew

I cannot come out to thee Roger till noon

Fear o' spoiling my sealskin shoe

No mists need to tarry my Jenny till noon

The mist simmers thin on the hill

Sun beams getting yellow will master him soon

& ye may walk out if ye will

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The mingling dye

The clouds of purple & of crimson dye

Were huddled up together in a heap

And oer the scented wide worlds edge did lie

Resting as quiet as if lulled to sleep

I gazed upon them with a wishing eye

& longed but vainly for the painters power

To give existence to the mingling dye

& snatch a beauty from an evening hour

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