But yesterday 'twas Autumn, and the leaves,
All aureate and vermeil, strewed the ground
And lay in drifted banks the trees around —
A fair and gorgeous sight. Night's hours, like thieves
Have stol'n them all, and now the Winter weaves
Where erst they lay, an ermine pall of snow.
Yon woods, where some lone bird for Autumn grieves,
And hills and fields, that pallid covering know.