How bravely Autumn paints upon the sky The gorgeous fame of Summer which is fled!
She stood breast-high amid the corn Clasp'd by the golden light of morn, Like the sweetheart of the sun, Who many a glowing kiss had won.
The Quaker loves an ample brim, A hat that bows to no salaam; And dear the beaver is to him As if it never made a dam.
The biggest bore of all is he who is overflowing with congratulations
To attempt to advise conceited people is like whistling against the wind.
How bless'd the heart that has a friend. A sympathizing ear to lend.