Tantarrara! the joyous Book of Spring

Out of the city, far away With spring to-day! Where copses tufted with primrose Give me repose, Wood-sorrel and wild violet Soothe my soul's fret.

Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods And day by day the dead leaves fall and melt.

No funeral gloom, my dears, when I am gone, corpse-gazing, tears, black raiment, graveyard grimness. Think of me as withdrawn into the dimness, yours still, you mine. Remember all the best of our past moments, and forget the rest;

Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren't go a-hunting, For fear of little men.

Winds and waters keep A hush more dead than any sleep.

Autumn's the mellow time.