Anna Seward

While one sere leaf, that parting Autumn yields,
   Trembles upon the thin, and naked spray,
   November, dragging on this sunless day,
   Lours, cold and sullen, on the watery fields;
And Nature to the waste dominion yields,
   Stripped her last robes,...

On the fleet streams, the Sun, that late arose,
   In amber radiance plays; the tall young grass
   No foot hath bruised; clear morning, as I pass,
   Breathes the pure gale, that on the blossom blows;
And, as with gold yon...