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Thomas Hood - Autumn II
Work rating: Low

The Autumn skies are flush`d with gold, 
And fair and bright the rivers run; 
These are but streams of winter cold, 
And painted mists that quench the sun. 
In secret boughs no sweet birds sing, 
In secret boughs no bird can shroud; 
These are but leaves that take to wing, 
And wintry winds that pipe so loud. 
`Tis not trees` shade, but cloudy glooms 
That on the cheerless valleys fall, 
The flowers are in their grassy tombs, 
And tears of dew are on them all.
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