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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