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

No blessed leisure for love or hope, But only time for grief.

Some dreams we have are nothing else but dreams, Unnatural and full of contradictions; Yet others of our most romantic schemes, Are something more than fictions.

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.

Oh would I were dead now, Or up in my bed now, To cover my head now, And have a good cry!

But evil is wrought by want of thought, As well as want of heart!

It was a childish ignorance, But now 'tis little joy To know I'm further off from heaven Than when I was a boy.