While One Sere Leaf, That Parting Autumn Gilds, Trembles Upon The Thin, And Naked Spray, November, Dragging On His Sunless Day, Lours, Cold And Fallen, On The Watry Fields; And Nature To The Waste Dominion Yields, Stript Her Last Robes, With Gold And Purple Gay. - So Droops My Life, Of Your Soft Beams Despoil'D, Youth, Health, And Hope, That Long Exulting Smil'D; And The Wild Carols, And The Bloomy Hues Of Merry Spring-Time, Spruce On Every Plain Her Half-Blown Bushes, Moist With Sunny Rain, More Pensive Thoughts In My Sunk Heart Infuse Than Winter'S Grey, And Desolate Domain, Faded, Like My Lost Youth, That No Bright Spring Renews.