How bravely Autumn paints upon the sky The gorgeous fame of Summer which is fled!

Boughs are daily rifled By the gusty thieves, And the book of Nature Getteth short of leaves.

Fuss is the froth of business.

Well for the drones of the social hive that there are bees of an industrious turn, willing, for an infinitesimal share of the honey, to undertake the labor of its fabrication.

O men with sisters dear, O men with mothers and wives, It is not linen you 're wearing out, But human creatures' lives!

I saw old autumn in the misty morn Stand shadowless like silence, listening To silence.

Ben Battle was a soldier bold, and used to war's alarms, But a cannon-ball took off his legs, so he laid down his arms.