Written In Autumn.

A poem by John Clare

Checq'd Autumn, doubly sweet is thy declining,
To meditate within this 'wilder'd shade;
To view the wood in its pied lustre shining,
And catch thy varied beauties as they fade;
Where o'er broad hazel-leaves thy pencil mellows,
Red as the glow that morning's opening warms,
And ash or maple 'neath thy colour yellows,
Robbing some sunbeam of its setting charms:
I would say much of what now meets my eye,
But beauties lose me in variety.
O for the warmth of soul and 'witching measure,
Expressing semblance, Poesy, which is thine,
And Genius' eye to view this transient treasure,
That Autumn here might lastingly decline.

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