I Saw The Summer Through Her Garden Go, A Marigold Hung In Her Auburn Hair, Her Brown Arms Heaped With Harvest, And The Lair Of Poppied Plenty, Like The Peach Aglow: Among The Pepper-Pods, In Scarlet Row, And Golden Gourds And Melons, Where The Pear And Quince Hung Heavy, In The Languid Air She Laid Her Down And Let Her Eyes Close Slow. Not So Much Breath As Blows The Thistle By, Not So Much Sound As Rounds A Cricket'S Croon, Was In Her Sleep, And Yet About Her Seemed The Long Dark Sweep Of Rain, The Whirling Cry And Roar Of Winds Beneath A Stormy Moon. Was It A Dream Of Autumn That She Dreamed?